Nine Names For Trouble
by Earial13
Summary: Who ever said wraiths were dull and hissy all the time? A compilation of tales concerning the (mis)adventures of the Nazgûl (who perhaps are not as competent as we were led to believe) and their witchified Captain. Such escapades, much chaos. SEQUEL IN PROGRESS.
1. To Bait A Captain

_Okay so, awhile ago I came up with this idea for a humorous Nazgûl story. (Doesn't that sound so original? *insert snark*) I've numbered the wraiths in Black Speech by way of naming them, (except for Khamûl and the Witch King) and they're listed below for reference. Anywho, here it is. _

_Gakh-Three_

_Zag-Four_

_Kraak-Five_

_Rut-Six_

_Udu-Seven_

_Ski-Eight_

_Krith-Nine_

* * *

"Fifteen." Udu, Nazgûl number seven, called out, slapping a few dirty coins on the table around which sat seven of his fellow Ringwraith brothers.

"Fifteen minutes?" He'd have driven you into Rhûn by then." Khamûl, second-in-command, scoffed as he in turn shoved some money towards the ever-growing pile in the center. "I say ten."

'He' was the captain of the Nazgûl, the Witch King of Angmar, known as the Chief by his minions, or Witchy when they were feeling particularly irreverent.

A long favored activity of the wraiths when irrepressible bored was one they called "Captain-Baiting", more accurately summarized as "seeing-how-long-it-takes-the-Chief-to-blow-his-top". Bets were taking as to the number of minutes estimated for the Chief to erupt, the lowest bidder tasked with destroying, burning, and maiming his way through their leader's possessions. If the bidder's guesstimated time was correct, the jackpot was his, providing he could avoid being impaled with the Captain's spear. The Witch King's wrath more often flowed as ice, burning and freezing, but when extremely aggravated, fire, Mordor, and all of hell broke loose. Needless to say, eight conniving Nazgûl with nothing to do but play with danger and his temper had small work to add the figurative "last straw".

"How is ten minutes reasonable or even likely?" Ski, number eight, argued. "What if he's inspecting troops or something and doesn't return to his chambers right away?"

"It's not called gambling for nothing, knucklehead." His lieutenant growled with a dark glare at his subordinate.

"Seven." Kraak intervened confidently, sliding a generous amount of gold in front of him. "I can trash that room like nobody's business."

"Drenching everything with water doesn't exactly raise his ire to the boiling point, more like the freezing point." Nazgûl six, Rut, commented as he eyed the prize hungrily.

"Will you bid lower?" Kraak challenged, pushing his rickety wooden chair back with a smirk.

"I will." Fourth-in-command, Zag, spoke up for the first time, his normally talkative manner subdued in concentrated thought. "I say _five minutes_, from the time I get back until the Boss comes out. Anyone else?" He asked as silence fell upon the group, due to the fact that Zag had never won a bid before, much less gamble on such a low number.

"Bid's yours." Khamûl acquiesced with a disapproving shake of his hooded head as Zag stood up, a devilish grin crossing his face.

"That's settled then, I'll see you fellows shortly."

He disappeared, the remaining Nazgûl falling to discussing and speculating what planned course of action Zag might have in mind as they waited for his return.

"What could possibly drive the Boss into such a rage for him to set chase in just five minutes?" Gakh wondered, taking a large swig from his mug of ale. (Minas Ithil's finest!)

"Zag isn't always the sharpest, but he still has some decent ideas occasionally." Ski countered as he munched on shriveled finger he'd found on the floor.

"Oh, really?" Kraak queried with an ironical smile. "Like the time he suggested we wear hot pink robes by way of frightening the masses more than black ever could?"

"There is the disadvantage that everyone assumes you're Goth with black clothing." Udu pointed out as reasonably as one of Sauron's evil minions could.

"Wait, aren't we Goth?" Rut asked worriedly, secretly dismayed to learn his purchase of black hair spray had been in vain.

"Someone's having an identity crisis." Khamûl remarked to a passing bat. "No, we only dress entirely in black."

"Isn't that the same-?"

"Zag's back!" Krith called out, breaking off the conversation as the indicated wraith ran up.

"Start the clock!" He called as triumphantly as if the Witch King was already after him and the pile of gold his.

"It's going." Gakh replied, flipping an ancient hourglass marked with a faded '5'.

"So, Oh-Devious-One, what'd you do to the room?" Krith asked, curiosity overriding his sarcasm, as Zag leisurely stretched his arms with a self-satisfied grin.

"Patience, imp. You'll find out in exactly…four minutes."

"I still say it's crazy." Khamûl snorted. "He'll probably spend three hours concocting some exquisite torture for you."

"And you as well." Zag retorted slyly.

"Explain yourself." His lieutenant commanded. "Torture me? Me, his loyal supporter and most ardent slanderer behind his lordship's gracious back?"

"He's got 'traitor' down to a 'T'." Ski mumbled to Udu.

"That's because it starts with one."

"What I mean," Zag started slowly and deliberately, savoring each word as he would a troll shish-ka-bob. "Is that our dear, _dear_, captain will now, upon viewing his chambers, assume that each and every one of you took an important part in this little adventure. Therefore, prepare yourselves to run in…two minutes." He laughed as anger, concern, and fear bedecked the countenances of his companions.

"How can you be so danged sure?" Kraak demanded querulously, tightening the grip on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"My abstinence from over-bidding has had a purpose, you know: to observe. All of you default to a certain method of destruction that pleases you best, but also distinctly marks you, which I'm sure has not escaped the vigilant Captain. I merely took advantage of this and used them all: dismembered orc limbs everywhere for Ski, rusty knives in the walls for Krith, a mini flood for Kraak…"

"You ingenious little worm!" Gakh exclaimed half in admiration and half in resentment as his sentiment was echoed in the various murmurs, hisses, and threats around him.

"So what was your 'distinguishing mark', Zag?" Udu queried in derision. "Or did you escape the storm of his impending wrath by portraying yourself as the innocent one?"

At that auspicious moment, the last grains of sand slipped through the hourglass as a great, clamorous racket was suddenly unleased that rang throughout the fortress. A high, screeching voice was steadily coming closer as it screamed profanities at its infuriating servants, heralding the Chief's imminent arrival as well as his discovery concerning the state of his bedchamber.

"I won, suckers!" Zag gloated with demonic delight as heavy footsteps approaching caused the Nazgûl to simultaneously leap from their chairs as if an elf-lord had been under them.

"Run!" Khamûl cried, pushing away the crow and humble pie he must needs eat later, as he lead the mass exodus out the back doorway. "Witchy" burst in as the last of his underlings fled, just in time to escape the well-aimed blade of their leader.

"What did you do to that room?" Udu repeated in amazement as they frantically ran from the fury of the Boss.

The woefully un-guilt-filled culprit shot a gleeful glance backward as he uttered a single word, one that would strike terror into an army of Uruk-hai, make Easterlings shudder in fear, and bring a troubled frown onto the face (if he currently possessed one) of the Dark Lord himself.

"Kitties!"

Right on cue, behind them was abruptly heard the scratching of tiny claws, yowls, mews, cries, and various other noises only an immense multitude of baby felines could produce.

"Curse you all, vermin!" The former King of Angmar wailed as he was halted in his chase, overrun by legions of furry cuteness so deadly to citizens of Mordor. "I'm allergic to adorableness!"

In spite of their own apprehension, all eight Nazgûl broke into extremely undignified snorts, evil chuckles, and plain uproarious laughter as they fled the crime scene, careful to avoid any wandering kittens.

* * *

_Thoughts? Like it, hate it, send it to Mt. Doom? I planned on making this a series of nine stories of the mishaps and such that befall the wraiths. So if you have any situations you'd like to see happen to our devious nine-some, let me know! Next chapter will probably be involving a large body of water... Reviews appreciated, as always. :)_

_**Note** I know the wraiths don't really eat, but, hey, gotta keep up with appearances and trends, right?_


	2. V is for Vacation

_I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. (obviously)_

* * *

"Man, this is the bomb." Khamûl sighed in contentment, luxuriously reclining on the black sand beaches of the Sea of Núrnen. "I really needed this vacation."

"We all did." Wraith number four agreed, generally known by his fellow companions as Zag. "The Captain needs it even more, though my beautiful shiny helm is off to anyone who can get _him_ to take a break. I doubt Witchy even knows the meaning of the word 'joke'."

"Talk about a workaholic." Khamûl replied critically, adjusting his sunglasses against the glare of the volcanoes in the backdrop. "The Boss doesn't have any concept of fun: remember the time he wouldn't let us torture a human because it'd impede the 'schedule'? By my ring! Torture and mutilation is one of the best parts of this job. He needs to let loose at least once, and I'll be there when he does." He finished with a huff.

"Always the 'schedule'," Number seven, Udu, interjected with a grumble. He straightened up as his voice was raised to a squeak in a mock impression of their leader. "'You scum all need to stop acting like orcs and accept the fact that you have an important reputation to uphold for the Master's plans.' And the time he stopped us from starting a heavy metal band and touring Mordor..."

"…Totally crushed my dreams of being famous." Zag finished wistfully, repeatedly poking a sleeping Rut in the ribs by way of relieving his disappointment.

"Speaking of fame," Gakh piped up as he sloshed through the shallows. "Kraak signed up for the surfing competition next month; should win it easy, look how he's killing those waves out there." He said as he indicated Nazgûl 5, skillfully navigating the sea, his bored, and thirty pounds of black fabric. (Quite the remarkable feat in that particular group)

"Must be his namesake; the Kraken was always a beast, literally and figuratively, in the water." Udu reflected, getting up to watch as Ski and Krith engaged in a vicious game of beach volleyball. (More properly known as send-the-spiky-metal-ball-flying-into-your-opponents-face game)

"By the Tower, Zag, stop it!" Rut finally exclaimed, unable to rest or attempt to tan (A life-long dream of his) with continual jabs in his non-existent stomach.

"I still say the Boss needs to lighten up." Khamûl griped, returning to the original subject as he sullenly opened a bag of fried rat tails.

"Aw, you lighten up, both of you." Gakh said, slapping his second-in-command on his invisible shoulder. "Let's go for a swim. Last one to the water is fell beast fodder!"

Few men, elves, or dwarves could picture the scene of seven Nazgûl, the most dreaded foe in Middle-Earth aside from their dark master, diving into the slick, oily waters of the Sea of Núrnen to engage in chicken fights, childish splashing, and the Dead Man's Float. (A very literally adaptation in their case)

"Thank the Master for vacations!" Udu cried as a he 'playfully' held the struggling Zag under the water in a friendly attempt to 'freshen him up'.

"Hey look, a jellyfish!" Krith called, pointing at Gakh.

"Where?!" He howled in terror, hurriedly shifting his feet away from the indicated spot, for if you were Gakh, anything involving jelly was a thing to be avoided at all costs.

"Gotcha! Gakh is as wimpy as captured human!" Krith taunted, earning a slap of wet cloth full in the face as he was tackled and taken down with a splash.

"What's that?" Khamûl questioned suddenly, pointing at a wave just beyond where Kraak was 'hanging ten'.

"What's what?" Ski asked as Zag came sputtering up, furious and seaweed covered.

"That." Khamûl clarified as a grey triangular shape broke the surface, speeding towards the unsuspecting surfer.

"That's not…. It couldn't be…" Rut whimpered, shrinking away as the fin, for such it was, headed towards Kraak with uncanny speed.

"SHAAARRKK!" Burst from the unseen lips of seven wraiths as the _Jaws_ theme played ominously in the background. (Not really, but you get the idea)

"Kraaaak!" Khamûl called desperately, waving his arms in an attempt to get the wraith's attention, still happily practicing his moves and unaware of the danger. "Get out of the water! The fish!"

"Delish? What's delicious? I thought you were against slang, Khamûl!" Kraak called back over the noise of the waves. Finally, the sight of all of his comrades gesticulating feverishly caused him to turn and view the silent stalker of the ocean approaching him. Kraak glanced down at the piece of plastic that offered but meager protection against those razor teeth and sighed. "I'm going to need a bigger bored." With that, he jumped screaming into the water, madly swimming to the group as the shark followed in close pursuit.

"Swim, Kraak!" Rut yelled as they waited in nervous anticipation, watching the deadly race pan out. "Swim for your li—Wait, we're not alive anyways, what would he swim for?" He questioned of Gakh.

"Hmmm, maybe the surfing competition?"

"Swim, Kraak! Swim for the surfing competition!"

If ever fear gave wings, (or fins) it did that day as Kraak dropped, exhausted and breathless, into his fellow Nazgûl's arms.

"Yeah, Kraak, I knew you'd make it, buddy!" Zag exclaimed, swooping the coughing wraith up in a bone-crushing bear hug. (That is, if they had bones)

"Nice strokes there, man!" Krith complimented admiringly.

"Um, guys, aren't we forgetting something?" Ski questioned as he pointed a finger at the giant shark, undeterred, speedily advancing towards where they stood in the water.

"Sweet mother of Shelob— "

"Screw the fish, let's get out of here!" Khamûl yelped as they ran, tripped, sloshed, and doggy-paddled their frantic way to shore with shrieks that would have burst a hobbit's eardrums.

"Where is it?"

"I don't want to die again!"

"Heeellpp!"

Apparently, none of the most invincible creatures in Middle-Earth had considered the improbability of any shark being able to do them harm. Alas, Steven Spielberg's damage could not be undone, and the beach was doomed to be rather deserted for a time.

The now forsaken beach stilled as a familiar black hood popped out of the water, a grey fin strapped to its head. The Captain stood in the water, chortling with fiendish jubilation at his minions' humiliation and fright. "Can't let loose, eh, Khamûl?" He guffawed as he strode to shore. "That'll show 'em to mess with my room again! After all, one can't enjoy a proper vacation without the 'certain necessities'." He said to himself as he stretched out on the coal-black sand to dry off. "Solitude, check. Nice weather, check."

The distant screams and squeals of the Nazgûl came to his ears, still running their terrified way back to Minas Ithil. A slow and wicked smile crept onto the Chief's features. "Relaxing music in the background, check."

* * *

_So, not sure if I like how this chapter came out, but hopefully you guys did! I do plan on explaining (eventually) why Gakh is terrified of jelly, in case you were wondering. _


	3. All for 'Science'

_It's here! I'm sorry about the delay in posting, but between a nasty writer's block, work, scholarship deadlines, and that monster procrastination, it's been hard getting the time to write. (Since summer for me does not equal a ton of extra time to lie around and derp) Enjoy! _

* * *

It was just another one of your average Ringwraith's day in Minas Morgul; the orc captains were shouting, whips were cracking, prisoners were screaming, and the fell beasts were growling, all the usual hub-bub of noises commonly associated with an evil fortress. Khamûl was striding rapidly through the luminous hallways of the Dead City, stressed with his job and attempting to fend off a migraine, though it was not yet lunchtime. (Or munch-and-crunch-time, as they say in Mordor)

So, since the Chief had banned coffee to the dismay of his fellow wraiths, the lieutenant was headed to the dungeons by way of a quick pick-me-up. Nothing could cheer Khamûl up more after a long day of work than simply standing in a cell and reflecting on all the torture and pain its inhabitants had endured. Reaching an empty chamber, he entered, inhaling deeply in contentment as the heavy, cloying scent of decaying flesh and clotting blood came to his nostrils.

Suddenly, a less-than-soothing voice hollered nearby. "Kha-mûl! Where are you?"

"That's _sir_ to you, scoundrel!" His commanding officer roared back, solving the question as to his whereabouts.

"Hmm, day been that bad already?" Udu commented, unfazed by the other's temper as he sauntered into the cell. Khamûl was never picky about how his companions addressed him except when frazzled or in front of the Chief. Some semblance of ranking must be kept, after all.

"Yes, it has," Khamûl sighed as he turned to face his fellow wraith. "So, I came here to cool off and rejuvenate. Why, just think of all the pain and misery the people in here have gone through, countless lives blighted, the bright flame of youth extinguished in a blink, dreams turned to dust, hopes (and appendages) crushed…." He soliloquized, wiping away a retrospective tear. "It's beautiful, that's what, and more restful then overseeing an execution."

"Agreed," Udu responded, secretly wondering if Khamûl needed more than a break as he absently scratched at the three-day scruff on his chin. "Anyways, I was sent to inform you that the Boss wants a new torture device by the next staff meeting, something particularly horrid."

"Of course he does," Khamûl huffed as his partially attained peace vanished. "I love my job, but what's wrong with the old tortures? What do I look like, a death idea factory?"

"Weell-"

"And the state of our torture department, it's absolutely shameful!" Khamûl continued, determined to enjoy his rant fully and properly as befitting one of the Nazgûl. "I do my best, but the workers grow lazier every century. Why, look at all these prisoner belongings those bumbling, incompetent orcs have left here!" He ejaculated, gesturing at several bottles and containers lying on the stone bench.

"And what's this writing on the walls?" Udu asked, thinking it wise to indulge the upset Nazgûl as he moved closer to examine the scribbles.

"Ah, ravings from our mentally un-hinged 'guests'," The other said dismissively. "Pay them no mind; it's just nonsense."

"Well, this looks important, like a code or something." Udu insisted as Khamûl at last turned to scrutinize the writings.

"By the Master, you've got something here: _E=mc2_. What does that mean?"

"Maybe it's a recipe of some sort." Udu suggested, stifling a yawn as he thought longingly of the forsaken meal back in his room.

"A recipe.…it must be for a torture device!? That prisoner was a smart one! Oh, Witchy will get his new torture for sure now." The lieutenant chuckled in fiendish delight.

"…Except for the slight problem that you don't know what the ingredients are, or if that recipe is even for persecution."

"What else would be worth writing down here, hmm? And I'm going to find out those ingredients if it takes an age." Khamûl responded determinedly, swooping up the forgotten bottles and vials as he stalked out of the cell, Udu at his heels. "E=mc2…. Send out a message to the rest of the Nazgûl that I want them to bring to me anything they can think of that starts with an 'E', 'M', or 'C'. Make it snappy too!"

"Okay." Udu sighed, already imaging the plethora of items soon to overrun the Torture R&amp;D Department.

"What was that?"

"I mean, yes, sir!"

* * *

"Eggs? Where in Mordor did you acquire such revolting produce?" Khamûl asked in disgust as he gingerly deposited the offending article into a large cauldron.

"You said anything with an 'E'." Gakh pouted. "What do you want me to bring, elves? I think eggs are a great way of torture."

"There's a reason it's me, not you, in charge of interrogation." Khamûl muttered as he threw some mud and cold chicken liver, provided by Kraak, into the mixture.

"Don't you think you're taking this a little too seriously? There're a thousand possible combinations, and the fellow who wrote this recipe is currently airing his internals externally." Rut ventured, earning a glare in return for his reasoning efforts as the thick grey gunk was ladled onto a metal plate.

"Very well, Rut, you may try it first, since it obviously won't do anything to _your_ internals." The lieutenant snorted, shoving the goop towards the unfortunate wraith with a smirk.

"Uh, we don't have internals, right?" Zag quietly inquired of Kraak to the side.

"It's called intimidation; apparently we're really good at it."

Rut whimpered in protest at his officer's demand, but orders were orders, and soon a generous portion of the concoction found its way down the unhappy Nazgul's gullet.

"Well?" Khamûl asked eagerly as Rut coughed and choked while Gakh wondered if any of the present party knew how to administer CPR.

"It's…actually pretty good." Rut finally wheezed in surprise, both at the taste and the continued existence of his 'internals'. "You should make it more often."

"Blast!"

"Who knew you had a cooking streak, Khamûl?" Udu snickered in mock admiration.

"Can I try some?" Kraak asked hopefully.

"Get out, all of you, and leave me in peace!" Khamûl growled in disappointed pride as the wraiths obligingly filed out the door.

"Can we take the egg-liver salad with us?"

* * *

A few days and several earthworms, dried ears, eels, mice, metal maces, mustard, crossbows, crushed cheekbone crackers, and camel meat later found a very frustrated lieutenant with still no solution to his mysterious torture-recipe problem. He'd experimented with the powders and substances in the bottles left behind in the cell, but they too had proved fruitless and unsatisfactory.

"This is hopeless." Khamûl at last admitted, (just to himself, of course) as he sat despondently in his makeshift 'laboratory', idly fiddling with a piece of silver metal from the container marked 'Sodium' as a rat scuttled across the floor.

"I guess I'll have to think up something else for the meeting." He said gloomily as he tossed the metal to the rodent, who proceeded to pick up the shiny thing and nibble at it with alacrity. Several minutes passed in silence when a mini explosion was suddenly heard, followed by small squeak, the smell of burnt fur, and a curse from Khamûl.

A surprised and astonished silence ensued before being broken by a villainous laugh.

"I have an idea!"

* * *

"You called for us, Boss, what do you need?" Ski asked as he and Krith stood uneasily in front their Captain.

"If it's about the fell beast that ate half a squadron of orcs, I can confidently say that it was _not_ my fault." Krith interposed as Ski elbowed him in exasperation.

"No, this is not about that incident, though it does have to do with the orcs," The Chief said as he rolled his eyes at their antics. "I have a problem, and I want you two to fix it."

"Us?" The wraiths chorused in uneasy dread.

"Yes, you. During the past couple of days, orcs all over Minas Morgul have mysteriously and inexplicably exploding without reason."

"Come again? Exploding? As in 'boom-boom'?" Ski questioned incredulously. "And why do we have to fix your problems?"

"As in, learn some respect or it'll be you next." The Chief threatened, fed up with his daily dose times nine of insubordination.

"Yes, sir."

"You two are (as much as I hate to admit it) my best investigators, detectives if you will, and I want you to find and locate the cause behind these detonations, as well as the culprit responsible. The Master has big plans for Minas Morgul's armies, and I've already lost nearly a third of my soldiers."

"So, you essentially just want us to snoop and skulk around? Captain, it'd be our pleasure." Krith replied in delight as the duo shared a grin at the enjoyable work before them.

"Ski and Krith are on the case, Boss!"

"Good, now go out there and get working before I lose the other two-thirds of my army."

* * *

"Well, that was exciting." Ski commented as they stepped around the mess on the floor that had once been an orc. "Always observe the problem first before you look for a solution."

"But what could have caused this sudden epidemic?" Krith ruminated as he examined a ruptured spleen. "Why are some orcs blowing up and others not? There must be a differentiating factor… You there!" He called to a nearby goblin sentry. "How long was this fellow on duty before he blew?"

"Jus' ten minutes 'er so." The soldier rasped, slinking away as if close proximity to his deceased companion would incur the same death. "He'd come from eatin' before that."

"Eating…" Ski muttered reflectively. "Did all the others explode shortly after a meal?"

The goblin blinked as if the connection between the internal bombings and food consumption had never occurred to his primitive mind. (which it hadn't) "Yes, sir."

"There's our clue, Krith!" Ski trumpeted as the goblin hastily shambled away. "To the kitchens!"

"So, what do orcs eat?" Krith asked a few minutes later as they walked into the Mordor equivalent of a mess hall.

"I don't want to know." Ski stated decisively as they gazed out over the hordes of orcs shoving food down their throats faster than a hungry Warg. "Yet the explosions have to be linked somehow to what they're eating."

"Hey, notice the silver stuff?" Krith inquired, pointing at a nearby orc whose meal was sprinkled with some shiny substance. "Only some of the bowls of food have that metal thingy, the others don't."

"Huh, I think we've found the problem, quick work there, Krith."

"Elementary, my dear Ski. Let's follow this fellow here and see if he goes ka-boom."

"And then we'll go ask the cook which unfortunate person has been putting this stuff on the food and wrecking the Chief's army."

* * *

"You called for me, my Captain?" Khamûl inquired questioningly as he made a respectful bow, mainly because the Chief seemed in any mood but pleasant and it was best not to push the snark too far.

"Are you responsible for my armies of orcs exploding?" The Witch King demanded, cutting straight to the chase, as his voice grew dangerous and threatening.

"That's what this is about?" Khamûl responded in surprise as he straightened up with a slight look of relief. "Why, I was just following your orders to find a new torture device for the meeting tomorrow, the orcs were good test subjects, after all, they're dumb enough not to realize what's going on."

"I asked you to find another method of persecution, not destroy all my soldiers needed for war." The Boss sighed in irritation.

"Then I suppose that means it worked, right? That metal does beautiful things to one's stomach and makes quite the splendid show." Khamûl smiled menacingly. "I'm sure if you won't accept my brilliant idea, I can find more _suitable_ people to experiment on." He added sweetly with meaningful look at his Captain, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Curse Khamûl, he knew how to get under the Boss's purely figurative skin.

"Very well, Khamûl, you need not have a new design at every meeting from now." He relented, trying not to visualize what may be lying in wait for him in his room this very moment.

"Thank you, sir." His lieutenant bowed deeply, a satisfied smirk on his face as he turned to leave.

"So where is the rest of this magic-exploding metal?" The Chief asked somewhat nervously.

Khamûl faced his superior again with a blatant grin of smugness and triumph. "Don't worry, Boss, it's in a safe place."

Five minutes later, eight successive pops were heard at various places in Minas Morgul, followed by a collective yell of Ringwraith-rage that rang throughout the Dead City from tower to dungeon.

"Kha-mûl!"

* * *

_So this chapter was a little all over the place, but I made it a little longer to compensate. Anywho, expect an update only every other week or so, but I do have some more solid(ish) plans for the upcoming chapters. Thank you for all the kind reviews, follows, and favorites, they help me write faster. :) Cheers!_


	4. Another!

"I want an explanation." The Witch King demanded as Zag and Khamûl were led into his office. "_Now_."

* * *

_Six Hours Earlier..._

"Alright fellows, here are the last ones!" Zag called out cheerfully as he plumped down two large metal mugs of ale on the heavily laden table, at which sat Udu and Gakh.

It was your regular "Falling-Out-Friday", on which the wraiths invariably committed some misdemeanor (accidentally or otherwise) that resulted in the Chief banishing them to a particular room to spend the rest of the day, rather then harping on his nerves. This particular Friday the eight-some had been sentenced to the ale cellar, an arrangement that would have pleased many a mortal man. However, due to being wraiths, the Nazgûl were unable to become drunk and therefore soon grew bored in their confinement. And a bored Nazgûl means new forms of mischief are about to be created, in this instance, a drinking contest.

It had been Zag's idea, and given the circumstances, Udu and Gakh had agreed to challenge each other. ("It's not like we're really flooded with activity options, is it?")

"Remember," Zag instructed as the rest of the wraiths curiously crowded around the table overflowing with beer. "This contest is based on speed; whoever finishes their approximately 20+ mugs first is the winner."

"What'll we win?"

"Satisfaction and bragging rights."

"Are you sure they won't get drunk?" Kraak asked suspiciously as he eyed first the drink then the black barrels it had been drawn from.

"Of course not, you moron." Khamûl interrupted, standing apart a few paces to observe the proceedings. "I once imbibed twice of what's on that table and never felt a difference. Don't tell me you haven't tried getting drunk once after all these years as a wraith?"

"Some of us were more concerned with the whole dead-not-dead thing instead of alcohol." Kraak retorted.

"So the real question is whether you would've been able to hold your liquor as a human?" Udu asked, breaking off the impending argument as he sniffed his mug in appreciative anticipation.

Kraak's glare was his only answer as devilish snickers were thrown about the cavernous room, echoing off the ceiling far above them.

"It's been ages since I was drunk, I've practically forgotten what it's like." Rut ruminated forlornly.

"Well, I still recall how a hangover felt." Ski commented as he watched Krith examining the paraphernalia in the room's dark recesses.

"So do I; I had a major headache and loud noises hurt. A lot." Krith added as he generously demonstrated on a large Haradrim gong he'd just found while seven Nazgûl collectively cringed.

"Shut that thing up, will you?!" Khamûl ejaculated angrily, holding his hands over where his ears would have been.

"Just trying to help Rut remember what a hangover was like." Krith grumbled, dropping the padded drumstick as he rejoined the others at the table.

"Yeah, thanks for the interactive experience."

"Enough chat already, let's start." Gakh interrupted impatiently. "It's not like we have all day."

"Too bad we do." Zag sighed. "Alright, Udu &amp; Gakh, hands off the mugs and on the tabletop. Three…two…one...Go!"

* * *

"Wait a minute, you actually _let_ them have a drinking contest with my select barrels of Minas Morgul ale?" The Chief questioned incredulously as he stared down from his desk to Zag and Khamûl fidgeting in front of him like naughty school children.

"Not too loud please, my head." Khamûl whimpered with a repressed moan.

"_Did you_?"

"Weell…" Zag started as he squirmed a little, sinking lower into his seat by way of an answer.

The Witch King snorted, though whether in baffled amusement or angry frustration neither servant could tell. "And did you know that those specific barrels contain the only beer in Middle-Earth, specially brewed by yours-truly, that can intoxicate a Ringwraith?" He asked dryly as Khamûl and Zag shared a glance, but remained otherwise silent.

"I see. You did know, or at least, you do now." The Boss added sarcastically. "Now tell me what happened after Gakh and Udu finished their little 'contest'."

* * *

"Udu's the winner!" Zag proclaimed as both contestants set down their last beer before slumping over small mountains of empty mugs.

"He did…not win…I'm ssure…" Gakh slurred groggily before releasing an impressive belch.

Udu groaned as he shakily attempted to rise before collapsing on the floor. "Where's all the rum gone?" He mumbled to the astonishment of his comrades.

"They're…_drunk_." Kraak stated, rather obviously, as they continued to watch the inebriated duo with awe.

"Well, Zag and Khamûl, you were both wrong." Rut observed in a hushed voice. "They're as tipsy as an orc off-duty."

"You know what this means then…" Ski started as they looked around at each other before heading towards the beer barrels.

* * *

"So you all tried the rum, then what?" The Witch King sighed impatiently as Zag paused in his storytelling to bat away an impertinent fly.

Khamûl grinned as he brushed flecks of dirt from his robes. "What else? We kept drinking."

* * *

"Another!" Kraak called out as he threw his mug to the floor with a crash from his perch on top of the table. "Gakh! More beer!"

"Huh? Waz happenin'?" Gakh mumbled from the empty barrel he'd squeezed himself into earlier.

Udu had passed out on the floor, oblivious as Rut and Ski unabashedly danced a tango on, over and around him. Krith was repeatedly whacking the gong, hollering a song above the chaos, despite some of the other's protests.

"Forty-seven mugs of ale on the wall, forty-seven mugs of ale, take one down, pass it around, forty-six mugs of ale on the wall! Forty-six mugs of ale on the wall, forty-six mugs of ale…"

"Krith!" Khamûl yelled, frowning at him over his rum as he alternated between chuckling to himself happily and booing Krith's singing with vehemence.

"...Take one down…"

"Pick a different song!"

"…Pass it around…"

"Or shut up!"

"45 MUGS OF ALE ON THE WALL!"

Among all the pandemonium, Zag was nowhere to be found.

* * *

"So that's when the guards found you, Zag, outside of your assigned room and brought you to me along with my 'trusty lieutenant'." The Chief interrupted sternly, glaring at both of them.

"Exactly, sir." Khamûl agreed with a nod, unfazed by his commander's mood and ignoring the dirty looks sent his way by both captain and comrade. "That was Zag's plan all along: get us so drunk he could escape without fear of seven wraiths impeding his departure."

"If you're so smart, Oh-Great-Black-Easterling, " Said Nazgûl retaliated with a huff. "Why did you drink the beer if you knew you'd get drunk yourself?"

"I think I am entitled to _some_ privileges, and I was merely partaking of some long-desired refreshment." Khamûl reasoned, swallowing the hiccup that rose in his throat.

"Oh, because six quarts of beer is _merely_ partaking."

"Ladies, ladies," The Boss broke in as he inwardly thought with vexation: _Honestly, some days I think being a mother would've been easier, considering the children I have to put up with. _"As the captain of the armies of Minas Morgul, I have more pressing issues to deal with then sitting here and listening to you two squabble. Khamûl, as second-in-command of the Nazgûl and my right hand-"

"Just figuratively, of course."

"-It was your job and responsibility to maintain order and dispel any rowdy behavior. Zag, as fourth-in-command, you are also expected to provide a standard for the rest of the Ringwraiths. Do either of you have anything to say for yourself?" The Chief ended imperiously.

Silence ensued, as a distinct purring sound became audible from somewhere in the fortress.

"What time is lunch?"

"Whatever time I see fit," The Witch King threw back with one of his do-you-dare-to-take-on-he-who-cannot-be-killed-by-any-man stares. "Before you're dismissed, tell me where the rest of those sodden wraiths are and what in Mordor is that noise?" He exclaimed in exasperation as the steady drone in the background rose to a dull roar.

Zag stifled a chortle while Khamûl permitted himself an ironic smirk. "Allow us to show you, Boss."

With Witchy in tow, they led him to a closed door from which was emanating the horrendous sound.

"It sounds like a bunch of sick trolls slowly drowning in lava." The Chief muttered in bewilderment.

"You're close to the mark there, Captain."

"What is this? More schemes of yours?"

"Far from it; sir, may I present, your best men." Khamûl intoned as he opened the door with a flourish and bow to reveal-six unconscious Nazgûl, snoring for all they were worth.

* * *

_Wow, I have really let this one go. Big apologies to everyone still following this fic, I rather lost my mojo for a while. But, since one thing I hate is when authors don't finish their stories, I will continue with this if it kills me. **cue dramatic music** Thank you again for your patience, reviews, follows, favorites, etc. Feedback appreciated! Love y'all!_

_~Earial_


	5. Teacher's Pests

"Attention! Everyone, attention!" The Witch King called out to the Nazgûl who stood about the room as he rapped on his new teacher's desk with a steel ruler. What had once been a musty old chamber in some isolated corner of Minas Morgul had become a twisted reflection of a school classroom. Eight student desks filled the floor, facing a large blackboard that hung on the wall. Appropriate pictures of the might of Mordor were tastefully placed around the room, including the building of the Dark Tower, the forging of the One Ring, and a beaming Sauron with a stoic Morgoth.

"Attention!" The Chief futilely cried again as the chatting wraiths paid him no mind. Listening to your superiors? Pfft, overrated, as Ski would say.

"_Everyone,_ SIT DOWN!" The Captain shouted, cutting the chatter as abruptly as the decapitation he'd just overseen an hour ago as the Nazgûl reluctantly slid into their assigned seats.

"What's this mess all about, Boss?" Kraak questioned curiously, scratching the iron desktop with a dirty fingernail.

"What have you done to this once beautiful room? It's hideous now." Udu moaned, pulling his hood over his face to avoid looking at the sickening classroom that smelled like *_gasp*_ hard work.

"Yeah, what's with this crazy school-idea-thing?" Gakh called out as Rut obligingly piped up. "And what would we be studying anyways?"

"More importantly, why?"

"This better be quick, Boss, I'm needed at the armory in fifteen minutes." Khamûl sighed irritably, checking his wristwatch.

"Well, it won't be quick, so quiet, the lot of you morons!" The Chief demanded as he paced intimidatingly in front of the unusual 'class'. "I have something to say."

When some measure of order returned, the Witch King cleared his throat, adjusting his newly acquired collar, before speaking. "The Massshter hass decided that certain proceduresss musst be taken to increasse our reputation. The firsst of thesse meassuress isss a new sstyle of sspeaking, which I am demonssstrating now. Thuss, we sshall have Ssspeach Sschool everyday until you all masster thiss method." He finished, pleased with himself as an astonished silence hung over the room before shortly erupting into laughter and catcalls.

"You expect us to talk like that?"

"Hey, Lispy! What's wrong with your mouth?"

"I always knew you were related to snakes!" Krith crowed in triumph.

"You took so long to talk a _dwarf_ could've killed you!"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand stupidity, could you repeat that?" Zag sniggered into his cloak.

"I can't breathe!" Ski guffawed, doubling over his desk as Rut helpfully slapped him on the back a few times.

"We don't breathe dummy, remember?" Gakh scolded, whapping him over the head with his evil government-issued schoolbooks.

"Well, exscuuuse me for using a figure of speech." Ski whined, rubbing his sore noggin resentfully.

"Sssi-lence!" The infuriated Chief yelled, repeatedly smacking the poor ruler on the desk by way of emphasizing his words. His hissing screech, rather then inspire fear, only sent the Nazgûl into another round of wild and rancorous laughter.

"It's the Master's orders!" He finally bellowed in exasperation over the general clamor, dropping his s's in his anger. "So if any of you numbskulls wish to take the matter up with Him, be my guest. If not, sit down and SHUT UP!" His threat worked as eight Ringwraiths shut up mid-sarcastic jibe. Sauron can have the effect.

"That'sss better." The Boss grinned, savoring the power of blackmail he held over them as his restless students twitched in their seats.

"Now, we will ssstart with role call." He continued in a business-like tone, whipping out a pen and a pair of those cross-teacher reading-glasses, which caused no small amount of secret amusement to the inwardly seething Nazgul.

"Khamûl?"

"Not present."

"Ssasss sshall not be permitted, Khamûl." The Boss intoned darkly as he moved down the list.

"Gakh?"

"Mmph."

"Zag?"

"Yo."

"Kraak?"

"Here and wishing I was wasn't."

"Rut?"

"Present."

"Sski?"

"I'm literally right under your nose."

"And Krith?"

A large yawn was his only answer, but the Chief (wisely) decided not to push it too hard the first day and took what he could get.

"Udu?"

"Yup."

"Now, everyone open your booksss to pagesss 105 and 106. We will sstart with ssstudying correct intonationss."

Afterwards, none of the wraiths would ever be able to clearly remember what that first day of school was like, seeing as it'd all passed by in a dreary haze.

* * *

"I'm a victim of shock." Khamûl moaned despairingly once Speech School had been dismissed for the day. The wraiths sat in the Great Hall, bewailing the cruel hand Fate (or Sauron) had dealt them.

"Maybe I could get an excused absence on the basis of extreme trauma." Zag meditated.

"This sucks." Udu grumbled, echoing the sentiments of everyone present as he shoved his schoolbooks away with a scowl.

"Then why don't we do something about it?" Ski demanded, slapping Krith who had finally succumbed to sleep.

"We can't," Kraak sighed. "If it was just Witchy's idea, sure, but a direct command from the Master? No way in Mordor."

"Mother of Morgoth, I feel so _helpless_." Rut sniffled, using his robe as a very large tissue.

"Must be how people enslaved by an oppressive overlord feel like every day." Gakh said seriously as the rest nodded glumly in agreement. "Why on Middle-Earth would we want to talk that way?"

"Maybe we could ask the Master to cancel school." Rut suggested, perking up at the thought.

"Yeah, right," Khamûl interjected scornfully. "And will you be the one to go ask him? 'Please, Master Sauron, Sir,'" He squeaked in an imitation of Rut's voice as the reprimanded Nazgûl slid down his seat in shame. " 'Could you please cancel the school you just put in place by your command? We don't like it.'"

"He's right, it'd never work." Udu agreed as the gloomy demeanor of the room's occupants returned.

"Hold on," Zag broke in after a pause. "Who says _we_ have to be the ones to ask the Master to end this ridiculous school notion?"

"What'd you mean?" Kraak asked suspiciously. Over time they'd learned the hard way not to accept Zag's every idea as a good one.

"I mean give the Boss such a hard time during school so he won't ever want to step foot in a classroom again, so much so he'll be practically begging Master to stop classes." Zag explained, his familiar mischievous grin spreading over his face.

"But wouldn't the Boss tell on us to the Master?" Ski queried in tones both dubious and hopeful.

"It's a double-edged sword," Udu spoke up, growing excited as comprehension of Zag's plan set in. "We could just as easily tell Sauron what a horrible captain and incompetent leader the Chief is. No, he wouldn't risk telling tales, his good-standing with the Master is too important."

"That…that could work." Gakh said speculatively.

"Anything to stop the madness, I suppose." Kraak acquiesced with a shrug while Rut happily bounced in his seat and Krith let out an accompanying snore.

"We're all in agreement, then?" Zag asked as they all chorused 'yes' before turning to look at the silent Khamûl, who sighed in resignation to the coming chaos.

"All right, I'm in, and no, I won't go tattling to Witchy. Just because I'm his lieutenant doesn't mean I like all his half-cooked ideas."

"More like quarter-cooked." Zag smirked. "We better get busy; somebody wake up Kirth, we've got a lot of _homework_ to do."

* * *

The next morning dawned nice and dour (your typical Morgal Vale sunrise) as the Nazgûl trooped into the classroom with decidedly improved attitudes. The Boss eyed them skeptically, doubtful of the outward change of heart, but proceeded with the lesson nonetheless.

About midway through his lecture on frightening noises, he adjusted his glasses and turned to the blackboard to illustrate a point. "Now, sssome creaturess find a low, guttural sssound ssscary, but the high and ssshrill cry is indisssputably more terrifying." He went on, writing on the board when- _POOF_, the chalk stick exploded, leaving a white powder in the air and a fine layer of dust all over the astonished Chief.

"Wha-" He gasped as several unidentifiable chuckles floated around the room. "Alright, who did that?" The Witch King sputtered, attempting to wipe chalk from his face and robes and look angry at the same time.

"Who, us?" Udu asked innocently.

"You really think we could make chalk spontaneously combust?" Krith scoffed, now wide-awake and ready for action.

"Really, you overestimate us, my dear Captain." Gakh said sweetly.

The Boss grimaced and sat down at his desk, creating pale-chalk mushroom clouds as he did so. "Turn to page 108 and finissh the workssheet." He ordered at last with a frown.

Silence ensued for exactly three minutes and twenty-six seconds when the Chief made the mistake of opening his desk drawer. Out sprang a quokka, which are as a rule despised by all evil minions on account of their eerie perpetual happiness. Eww.

The Captain pushed his desk away with a roar, leaping on top of his chair to avoid being scampered on by exuberant gaiety on four little legs. The quokka was now cheerfully running around the classroom floor, while the class (keeping their feet off the ground) burst forth in laughter, prompting their leader to recover his dignity somewhat.

"Order! Order in the classssroom!" He yelled grabbing his ruler and hitting the desktop, except said ruler didn't create quite the forceful noise he'd expected. Rather, the harder he smacked it, the more it sounded like a duck in childbirth. (Or duckling birth, whatever) The steel stick had been replaced with a cleverly designed rubber ruler, sending the eight Ringwraiths into another paroxysm of mirth.

"Fine, classss dissmisssed for today!" The Chief shouted in frustration as he clambered down the desk. "And sssomebody catch that curssed quokka!"

"Great job team!" Kraak cheered as the Boss made a hasty retreat. "At this rate it's just a matter of days before he cracks."

"I think you mean cracksss." Ski grinned as he gingerly picked up the quokka and thrust it into a box.

"One day down." Khamûl breathed in relief.

"Hopefully only ssseveral more to go." Zag sniggered as they filed out of the room.

The next day saw the delinquents of wraith-kind giving Witchy a figurative heart attack after plastering the schoolroom with hundreds of pictures of cats and kittens. Ever since The Incident Of The Nearly Fatal Cuteness, (as they now called it) the Witch-King had harbored a stronger-then-normal dread of anything feline. Krith swore the Captain had nightmares about it.

The day after that, Rut and Gakh spent some time carefully applying glue to the teacher's chair. So when the Boss sat down and then stood back up his robe, well, didn't make the return journey. The teacher was then forced to depart in disgrace to the taunting cries of '_scandalous_!'

Spitballs flew about the room another day as the Chief tried to navigate the wet and dangerous crossfire.

"Heads up!"

_Splat!_

"Aarggh!"

The fifth day (marshmallow guns) proved to be the very last straw, as the mightiest servant of the Dark Lord tossed his teacher's schedule in the trash, chucked his reading glasses out the window, and yelled some choice words at his students before shouting that he quit and storming out of the room.

There was a slight pause as the rest of the reprobate wraiths registered what had just happened.

"Ha, we did it!" Udu celebrated, tossing his marshmallows in the air.

"Look at him run!" Rut laughed, throwing his books on the floor.

"We ssure ssshowed him." Zag mocked, dancing with glee around the now dilapidated desk.

"Lesson number eighty-two: never send a Nazgûl to school." Khamûl smirked as he expertly caught a flying marshmallow in his mouth.

* * *

_Several hours later…_

A disheveled Witch King stood in the upper-most room of Barad-Dûr, reporting to his Master. To the human eye, the chamber was empty save for the lone, cloaked figure kneeling in respect on the ground. But it didn't take a wraith to feel the power that resonated through every brick, the presence of an indomitable will, ready to break others' to his.

"_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" _A mighty voiced thundered angrily, the room trembling with the force of his words.

"I'm…I'm sorry, my lord." The Chief squeaked. "The other Ringwraiths turned out not to be as…_accepting_ of the new speech idea as we'd hoped."

"_Really?" _Sauron asked, surprise coloring over his rage. _"Personally, I thought it was brilliant."_

"That it was, your Darkness, they just seemed to retaliate at the whole hissing part."

"_Hmm, I prefer to call it the elongation of the voiceless consonants. Hissing has so many reptile connotations."_

"You are not…irate?" The Boss questioned hopefully, daring to rise to his feet.

"_Oh, I'm _very _irate," _Sauron replied nonchalantly. _"But, I suppose the worst punishment you could receive is one you already get a daily dose of: having to deal with eight reckless Nazg__û__l everyday."_

"If it's any consolation Sire, they're well on their way to being Mordor's finest evil pranksters and inflicters of mischief."

The Black Lord made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. _"From the looks of it they already are."_

* * *

_A/N: Hope y'all had a good Valentines/Single Awareness Day!_

_So, ever wondered why the wraiths hiss? Now you know! ;) Also, it appears Sauron has a sense of humor. Who would've thunk? And Zag is turning into a scheming little mastermind, isn't he? Daaw, my babies are all growing up. *sniffles*_

_If you don't know what a quokka is, go google some pictures right now and be blinded by happy cuteness._

_Thanks for all the response &amp; reviews! I will now be personally responding to every review (something I've been meaning to be better about) as I know how much I appreciate it when other authors do it for me._

_Let me know what you thought! Like having Sauron in the mix? Want more of a certain character? Thanks again, y'all rock my day!_


	6. Screeching in the Rain

_I do not own Bon Jovi, The Beetles, or AC/DC. It would've been interesting if I did, though. :)_

* * *

An unusual hush lay over Morgal Vale one Wednesday evening. (That is, a hush other then the death-like calm assumed by the valley and its occupants when foreigners were present. "It's all about public face and reputation," The Witch King had been heard to remark to a compatriot. "The press needs to think we're eerily silent and watchful twenty-four-seven."

"Then it's a good thing we don't have to live up to those reputations twenty-four-seven.")

"I don't like it, Khamûl, I just don't like it." The Chief remarked decidedly this particular day, pausing in his signing of sympathy cards for prisoners' families. Despite being said prisoners' cause of death, the Witch King was all politeness when it came to condolences. After all, it wasn't _his_ fault the people of Gondor never knew for certain what had happened to King Eärnur; that darned orc messenger just had to go and drown in the river. Shame, he had sent such a nice card as befitting the death of royalty.

"Like what, sir?" His lieutenant asked respectfully, swallowing a yawn. Office work. Bleh. Nothing like licking stamps all day. (Mordor hadn't quite upgraded to the self-adhesive stamp yet)

"The silence! If it's not you wraiths wreaking havoc, it's the orc labor union badgering me for more benefits, or the goblins going on strike, or the fell beasts being fed porpoises and getting indigestion for a week."

"The event and smell will remain in my memory for some time." Khamûl muttered to himself, crinkling his invisible nose in remembrance.

"Something's happened or about to happen, or I'm an elf." The Boss insisted, nervously fiddling with the troll bobble-head on his desk that stood next to his autographed photo of Sauron. "Go find out what the rest of your brethren are doing, Khamûl," He instructed. "And if you find a reasonably competent orc, send him up, will you? These cards need to be sent."

"Will do, Boss."

* * *

On the other side of the Dead City, Ski, Kraak, and Gakh sat in the Nazgûl commons room. (Or as Udu preferred to call it, the 'uncommonly common for a commons room' room)

"Keep playing cards like that and you'll lose sooner then I thought you would, Gakh." Ski smirked as he transferred his opponent's cards into his own hand.

"It's not like I can pick what cards I get." Gakh defended peevishly, throwing another card on the well-worn table.

"But you can control how fast you are." Kraak interjected, putting down his own card as the addressed wraith grimaced.

_SLAP!_

"Pay attention, you two! I'm winning easily enough already." Ski scolded, scooping up the pile of cards he'd just slapped.

"Only because I'm letting you," Gakh retorted. "Ready to see some real card-slapping skills?"

"Hey guys, what's up?" Rut asked, preventing Gakh from living up to his boast as he meandered into the room.

"We're playing Rat Slap, what's it look like?" Kraak responded impatiently, keeping his eyes on the growing stack of cards.

"Oh, I used to play that, too! Let me go grab a nice, fat rat for you, always helped me with stress management, personally. Why, I remember one time…"

"If you can't tell, Rut, we're not slapping real rats." Ski pointed out with an eye roll. "It's a card game where you slap different card combinations."

"Oh."

_SLAP!_

"Told you." Gakh grinned triumphantly. "Stop moaning, Kraak, we can't even feel our hands half the time."

"That's no excuse for _hitting_ me!"

"So, can I play?" Rut questioned interestedly, grabbing a chair and sitting down.

"Sure, just slap something when you see either doubles or a 'sandwich', like a 7, 9, and 7 together."

The game progressed a few more rounds in relative silence as the four wraiths intently watched card after card being placed on the now large pile when suddenly…

_**SMACK! **_

"THAT WAS MY FACE!" Ski yelped, cards flying everywhere as he clasped his aching nose.

"My apologies," Rut smirked in a very unapologetic (and un-Rut-like) tone. "You said to slap something, and your face happened to be handy. So don't ever even think about stealing my designer robes again." He finished ominously.

"I have to admit that I'm impressed." Gakh noted, Kraak nodding in agreement as Ski let out a low groan.

"Sounds like you two are even now." Kraak chuckled.

"Alright," Ski grumbled. "But try anything like that again, Rut, and I'll throw you into a pit of baby bunnies…and leave you there."

"Who's getting thrown into a pit?" Krith asked as he and Zag sauntered into the room, laden with snacks and junk food.

"No one, yet." Gakh snickered, swiping a bag of Cheesy Cockroach Curlz. "What've you been up to?"

"Raiding Witchy's secret food bunker, what else is new?" Zag answered, dumping the treats on the table, despite Ski's indignant protests.

"What the…Boss stress eats?" Rut questioned in disbelief as Kraak and Gakh both started to snigger at the hilarious idea.

"No wonder he's getting a little chubby," The former grinned. "Does he know you've taken his precious food yet?"

"No, but serves him right for being a greedy hoarder." Krith returned coolly as he seated himself. "And when he does find out, well, we'll cross that bridge later."

"Tell him you're helping him start a new diet." Ski suggested as they all broke into chuckles, snorts, and hiccups.

"Okay, what's this all about?" Khamûl demanded as he and Udu walked in.

"Must you scrutinize everything we do?" Kraak sighed in exasperation as he shuffled the cards with an expert hand.

"When the Boss asks me to, then yes, I do." Khamûl responded, cocking an eyebrow.

"They're playing some card sapping game." Krith said in answer to the lieutenant's question.

"Correction: we _were_ playing before you interrupted us."

"Why don't we all play then?" This came from Zag, with a mouth full of BBQ Pig Snouts.

"What's that you've got there, Udu?" Gakh suddenly asked as he addressed the previously silent Nazgûl with surprise.

"Finally, I was waiting for you all to shut up." Udu grinned as he displayed a large brown box thing and several shiny black discs. "Turns out the Chief doesn't just hoard food, but music as well!"

"Witchy has…vinyls?" Kraak asked incredulously, staring at the records in disbelief.

"You bet your bootstraps he does."

"Our boots don't have straps."

"It'd be nice if they did, though. The blisters I get!"

"No way!" Krith chortled. "This is too good!"

"What's a vinyl?" Rut questioned, inspecting the discs curiously. Although Rut was technically considered Ringwraith #6 in regards to chain of command, he was in reality the youngest of the Nazgûl. While human, he'd been obliged to take his throne and crown at a tender age. (Long story, but it involved banana allergies, a blind great-aunt, and that stupid ambassador with the pet parrot)

"It's a special disc that plays music." Khamûl somewhat pompously explained, moving to help Udu set up the record player.

"I just had an awesome idea!" Zag proclaimed. "What if…we had a karaoke contest?"

"Yes!" Rut cheered enthusiastically while the others voiced their approval.

"A what?"

"Cool!"

"Why not?"

"Since we obviously won't be finishing this card game…"

"Okay, let's get this show on the road then," Gakh said, slipping a record into place as he motioned to Khamûl. "C'mon, Khamûl, let's hear those lovely vocal cords!"

"Aw, I'm not singing," The wraith protested, until the steady chanting _"Kham__û__l, Kham__û__l, Kham__û__l"_ forced him to walk to the microphone. "Alright fine," He sighed, "But I won't know the lyrics…"

"That's why it's called karaoke." Kraak pointed out, settling back for the show.

"Just make some new words up!" Zag called encouragingly.

Gakh 'dropped the needle' and Khamûl, clearing his throat nosily, started to sing to the guitar music now wafting through the room.

_"It's all the same, only the years will change," _He warbled, improvising the lyrics as he went._ "Everyday, we were really wasting away, before the time when our faces got so cold, I'd walk all night to never go back home."_

The music picked up for the chorus as Khamûl, getting in his grove, started to sing a little more confidently while the others tapped their fingers against the table and shared amused smiles.

"_I'm a Nazg__û__l, on a real smelly horse I ride, I'm wanted undead or undead!"_ He sang, swaying and smiling a little. _"Sometimes I slept, but now it's been ages, and the people I met deserved to be in cages, sometimes you tell the age by the ring that you wear, and times when you're a wraith all you do is stare." _Khamûl's voice cracked while attempting the low note, but he was now so wrapped up in the music he went on to the chorus again, belting out the words like a Rohan country singer.

"_I'm a Nazg__û__l, on a real smelly horse I ride, I'm wanted (wanted) undead or undead! Wanted (waaanted) undead or undeeaad!" _The record scraped to a halt as Khamûl gave a bow and blew kisses to his wildly cheering fans. (Or rather his politely applauding compatriots)

"Pretty decent, if I do say so, Khamûl." Ski commented. "I could've made an awesome music video to go with that song."

"My drumming skills would've made it even better." Krith insisted, pounding out a rhythm on the tabletop to demonstrate.

"Who's up next?" Udu asked, prepping the next record.

"Oooh, ooh! I'll go!" Rut exclaimed excitedly, waving his hand in the air like a several thousand-year-old child as he raced to the microphone. The music started to play and Rut began to sing in an admittedly very high-pitched voice.

"_Yester-year," _He crooned. (Or squeaked) _"All my troubles were nothing to fear, now it looks like they're here for beer, oh I believe in yester-year." _

Several surprised glances were passed at the new lyrics, but Rut continued undeterred to crank out his shrill voice. _"Suddenly, I'm not the human I used to be, the shadow has taken over me, oooh yester-year came suddenly."_

"These words make no sense." Kraak mumbled aside to Zag.

"Blame it on artistic license."

"…_Being a wraith was such an easy game to play," _

"Tell that to my face." Khamûl snorted.

"…_Now I need an evil city to hide away…"_

"He sung it to your face, that's close enough, right?"

"_Oooh I believe in yester-yeeaar!" _The music stopped as Rut hopped down from the improvised stage with a grin.

"That was…nice." Gakh commented, rubbing his ears as with a wince.

"What do you guys want to sing to next?" Udu called, digging through the records.

However, before any could respond, who should walk into the room but the Chief!

The wraiths fell deathly silent as the Witch King surveyed the situation, taking in his precious vinyls scattered on the floor, the lone microphone and speaker, the cheese dust on Krith's face, (who attempted to surreptitiously wipe it off) and the guilty looks on all eight invisible faces.

"Karaoke?" The Captain said at last, sounding offended. "And you didn't invite ME?"

A pause.

"You…like karaoke…Sir?" Ski returned hesitantly as his mood was reflected throughout the room.

"Like it? I LOVE it!" The Boss cried fervently. "Granted, you stole my favorite records and ate all of my emergency-crisis food, but considering you actually had the sense to do karaoke…well, I'll overlook it for now." He finished magnanimously, grabbing the mic and slipping another record in the player. "So listen up and let a pro show you how it's done."

"You aren't kidding?"

"You're actually going to _sing_?" Rut and Zag exclaimed simultaneously as loud rock-and-roll started to play, drowning out their cries as the Witch King started to bob his head rather violently to the music.

"_I'm like evil, I get under your skin," _The Chief started in full-on perfect rock-voice, complete with scratchy voice and hair flip. (Or hood-flip in his case) _"Just like a bomb that's ready to blow, cause I'm illegal, I got everything that all you wraiths might want to know, I'm gonna take you down," _

The Boss sang on, clearly in his totally unexpected element as the wraiths sat in shock, jaws gaping at the quality of their captain's voice.

"_Yeah, down, down, down, so don't you fool around…"_

Kraak and Udu started clapping to the beat at this point, causing the others to soon join in with vigor.

"_I'm gonna pull it, pull it, pull the trigger," _

The Nazgûl were on their feet now, waving their hands in the air and jumping around, looking like a group of strange Goth people jamming to hard rock. (Which was pretty much the case)

"_Shoot to thrill, play to kill, too many wraiths, too many pills, shoot to thrill play to kiiill!" _The Chief screeched exuberantly as the disk stopped and the rest of the wraiths burst into cheers and applause.

"That was a-mazing!" Rut sobbed, wiping away the tears of joy streaming down his face.

"Good Gothmog, _why_ didn't you let us start that band if you're so good yourself?" Khamûl demanded as he stalked up to the stage.

"Yeah, what's up with that?"

The Boss shrugged somewhat sheepishly. "Because you didn't ask me to be part of it." He admitted very uncharacteristically, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner.

"Well, you're hired!" Gakh broke in, coming up and shaking his leader's hand vigorously.

"If you can get Sauron to let us tour Mordor, we'll let you sing lead vocals." Zag offered shrewdly. "What say you, Boss?"

"I'm in!" He agreed happily. "The Master will absolutely LOVE us!"

* * *

"Master?" The Chief asked, poking his head cautiously into the tower of Barad-Dur as the other eight wraiths craned their necks to see into the room.

"_UP HERE!" _Sauron's voice called as the slightly puzzled Nazgûl made their way to the roof on which now floated a giant, flaming eye in between the tower's twin lighting rods. (Electrical storms are actually quite a serious hazard in Mordor)

"_There you are!" _The Dark Lord beamed, his humongous eye gazing at each of them in turn as they stared in astonishment at the new incarnation of their master.

"Master, you look…different." The Boss stated rather obviously, causing Ski to suddenly break into a very suspicious fit of coughing.

"_Do you like it?" _Sauron asked proudly. _"My new form shall be a symbol of terror throughout Middle-Earth after I destroy all those who stand in my path!" _

"It's…nice." Kraak finally spoke up after a swift kick from the Chief indicated he was to respond.

"Yeah, it really brings out your _roundness_." Udu added as he and Krith shared a smirk.

"_You don't think it makes me look fat, then? I knew I shouldn't have had that blueberry cheesecake last night…" _Sauron questioned anxiously, his giant slit-pupil widening in alarm.

"Oh, no, my lord." The Witch King assured him. "You look positively horrifying. In fact, we came here to ask your permission for us to start our own rock band and tour Mordor."

"_Rock band? Interesting." _Sauron mused, gazing into the distance. _"What would you each be doing exactly?"_

"I'm on lead vocals."

"Bass player." Khamul chimed in.

"Backup vocals and guitar." Rut smiled.

"PR Department." Zag grinned.

"Drums!" Krith chortled gleefully.

"Song writer." Udu said self-importantly.

"I'm the band manager and Gakh and Ski are our tech crew." Kraak finished off as they waited impatiently for their overlord's decision.

"_Well…I'm kinda busy trying to take over the world and all right now, and I need all of you giving a hundred percent to the war effort." _Sauron muttered reflectively. _"How about this: we win the war, and you guys can go on tour. I'll even fund your whole band and feed you cheesecake!"_

The Nazgûl glanced disappointedly at each other. At the rate the war was currently going, it could be another age before they came out on top permanently. Not that they _doubted_ their lord, no, but let's call it a decreasing of trust after numerous failures. However, it wouldn't do to tell Sauron that, so the wraiths mustered up what false gratitude they could.

"Thank you, Master, we won't fail you." The Chief promised as they left the tower top.

* * *

The trip back to Minas Morgul was silent and somewhat glum, until Gakh's frustrated question: "How are in Mordor we going to win the war relatively quickly?"

"I don't know…." The Boss sighed regretfully. "I was _really _looking forward to my own band."

"Maybe the One Ring will turn up." Rut suggested, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, right."

"Ple-eeze!"

"Like that would EVER happen!"

* * *

_A/N: The One Ring turning up? Pfft, what a ridiculous idea! _

_What'd you guys think? The song parodies, if you couldn't tell, were Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi, Yesterday by the Beetles, and Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC, which I only chose because it was Tony Stark's entrance song in the Avengers, not because of any particular liking for the band and/or their songs. :3 Sorry any AC/DC fans._

_So what would the wraiths band name be? Shoot me some ideas and I'll pick the one I like best to use in a chapter! I do plan on ending this at chapter nine, just so y'all know. _

_Thanks for the reviews, etc, etc. Love y'all! _


	7. S'more Gore, Please

_Disclaimer: I actually _do_ like hummus_

* * *

"Hurry up, you scoundrels, do you want to be late?" The Witch King demanded as the Nazgûl, laden with water coolers, camping chairs, blankets and pillows, filed into the courtyard of Minas Morgul where three fell beasts were waiting. "Can we at least _try _to be on time?"

A few weeks had past since the Ringwraiths' disappointing rock band rejection, prompting the eight to attempt some display of niceness to their Chief, despite their internal misgivings.

"After all, he _did_ try to get the Master's approval for us." Kraak had reasoned during their impromptu staff meeting held in the broom closet upon their return from Barad-Dur.

"Fiiinnee, we'll be nice to him for now," Udu had agreed resignedly. "But no promises for anything long-term. We still need _some _entertainment, after all."

"We're _coming,_" Krith heaved a sigh as he hoisted a large cooler onto the back of his fell beast. "Zag had to finish packing the food for the s'mores."

"I got the extra-jumbo-marshmallows!" Said wraith exclaimed excitedly, clambering onto his own steed along with Khamûl and Rut.

"Where'd you get all those marshmallows, by the way?" Gakh asked, eying the four sacks stuffed with the fluffy goodness. "I thought we used them all up when we made those guns."

"Marshmallows don't grow on trees." Khamûl added as he adjusted his rather precarious seat on the disgruntled animal.

"It's bushes, not trees, thank you very much." Zag retorted haughtily.

"What?"

"I may or may not have started a marshmallow farm and let Zag harvest it." Ski admitted from his cramped position sandwiched in between Krith and Kraak.

"And you never told us?" Udu cried. "You KNOW how much we love marshmallows!"

"I wanted a marshmallow farm, not a marshmallow famine!"

"Alright, that's enough," The Boss ordered. "We're going to a bonfire at Mt. Doom, so this is supposed to be a fun, happy time for all of us. No squabbling! Is that clear?" He finished as the last of the Ringwraiths situated themselves on their respective mounts.

"Yes, sir." They chorused, several of them shooting some _'are we _really_ going to keep being nice to him?'_ looks as the fell beasts rose from the ground.

"Great, now let's put our happy faces on!" The Chief said cheerily as eight Nazgûl immediately plastered eight cheesy grins on their faces. Honestly, Witchy seemed determined to make being nice to him as hard as it could possibly be.

"You brought the cockroach crackers, right, Rut?" Khamûl called from the driver's seat over the whistling wind. "S'mores aren't s'mores without cockroach crackers!"

"I got 'em right here!" Rut hollered back. "Along with Shmershey's llama blood bars!"

"Awesome! Those melt so nicely at volcanic temperatures!"

"Are you two done yelling in my ear?" Zag asked above the noise, clutching his precious marshmallows to his chest as he peered at the ground far below him. Heights+Zag=nausea. Gaaah, curse fell beasts and whoever decided they were a good method of travel for easily airsick wraiths.

"So Chief, you never told us why exactly the Mouth of Sauron invited us to this bonfire." Udu commented, doing his best to speak clearly from behind Gakh's cloak and hood.

"Call it a vacation if you want, something that will only happen if you _behave_." The Chief explained, navigating his beast towards the looming Orodruin.

"Or we could just run off to Nurnen like last time..." Kraak muttered to Ski.

"Dude, I haven't seen MoS in ages!" Krith called excitedly.

"He showed me the best ways to make my teeth look gross." Rut reminisced, sympathetically patting the queasy Zag on the back.

"Does this little outing have anything to do with speeding up the war outcome?" Khamûl asked the Boss hopefully.

"We'll see, the MoS is already a fan of the whole band idea, so who knows?" He replied as the three fell beasts slowly circled the mountain before alighting at the volcano's entrance when the Mouth of Sauron was waiting for them.

(The wraiths had asked why they couldn't each ride their own beasts for a less-squished ride, but apparently this was "wasteful", "non eco-friendly", and "didn't fit with Sauron's green agenda". "Although how we're supposed to be going green when there isn't a living blade of grass for miles is beyond me." Gakh had complained.)

"Witch King and Company! How's it going?" MoS grinned, his smile stretching even wider then normal. The Mouth of Sauron was in fact, when not acting in infomercials, the CEO of _Great Gunk Toothpaste_, 'guaranteed to bring out the evil in your smile!', and was considered Mordor's leading expert on all things entrepreneurial and business minded.

"We're surviving," Ski answered for the group as they trudged into the heart of the mountain. "How've you been?"

"Oh, about the same, you know how it is when you run a multi-million dollar business."

"Sure, just like I know what it's like to famous or beat a balrog in elf-slaying." Kraak snorted as they set up their folding chairs on the tip of the precipice inside the volcano.

"I can't help it if I'm beautiful...or rich." The MoS laughed good humoredly. "Now, let's get on to some marshmallow roasting, shall we?"

Mt. Doom really was the perfect spot for making s'mores. One simply stuck their roasting stick over the giant lava pit, waited approximately 6.3 seconds, and the marshmallows promptly burst into flames, leaving behind a tasty charred clump of perfect gooey-ness.

All-in-all, it was rather cosy and heaven to marshmallows connoisseurs like the present party.

"Yummm...nice, burnt, and gory." Ski hummed delightedly as he reached for his s'more.

"I could eat these all day!" Zag proclaimed with melted llama blood dribbling down his chin. At least, that's what he tried to say. Due to currently having three of the extra-jumbo-marshmallows in his mouth, it sounded more like, "Mmmf mmf mmm mmmmd!".

"I can't remember the last time I had a gore s'more this good." The Boss sighed as he stretched luxuriously in his canvas chair.

"I got to hand it you, Ski, you grow some mean mallows." Krith said, rubbing his belly in appreciation.

"Must..have...one...more..." Rut groaned, attempting to finish off his seventeenth s'more.

"I foresee mild to severe stomach pains in the near future." Khamûl remarked on the side to Kraak as he snuggled under his fuzzy purple blanket.

"We should really do this more often, guys." Udu said seriously, licking goo off of his sticky fingers.

"Except the Master said he'll be needing us on the war's front-lines soon." Zag reminded him.

"You're lucky," MoS returned, sorrowfully adjusting his helm. "You get to go out and kill elves; I'm stuck here baby-sitting orcs."

"Don't worry, you'll get your moment of glory, too." Gakh comforted reassuringly.

"People will lose their heads over you." Ski added.

"I even had the best battle entrance plan," The Black Numenorean moaned, refusing to be consoled. "I would use my best toothpaste, (you know the kind that looks like you've been eating nothing but swine spleens for six months) saunter up to some puny human or dwarf, swish my cloak around threateningly, and say: 'Hello, I am the Mouth of Sauron, you killed my people, prepare to die.' It would've been epic!" He sniffled, blowing his nose violently.

"Life is full of unfulfilled dreams and disappointing tales." Khamûl agreed, thinking of the time he turned down trying bacon ice cream.

"Hey, speaking of stories, why don't we share some funny ones or something?" Kraak suggested. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do at a campfire?"

"I thought you were supposed to sing kumbaya." Rut frowned.

"Oooh, I have a great story to share!" Krith trumpeted, scooting his chair closer to the middle of the circle. "And it has to do with Gakh." He smirked, shooting a glance at the wraith, who had spat out his s'more in surprise.

"Gross,man!"

"You're not telling that _here,_ are you?!" Gakh protested as the rest of the group eagerly asked for the tale.

"'Course I'm telling it!"

"Krith!"

"Whaat?"

"Don't!"

"What's stopping me?"

Gakh implemented his puppy-dog eyes at this point. "Even now?"

Krith paused, considering the pleading face before him. "What's the magic word?"

"Please?"

"Actually, it was 'Krith is awesome', so no, I won't not tell it."

"That was three words, not one!"

"Meh, details."

"Just get on with the story, Krith." The Boss intervened at last. "And stop whining, Gakh, we'd have found out eventually."

"Not if I had anything to say about it." Said Nazgûl muttered mutinously.

"I say it sounds entertaining." Zag commented, propping his boots on MoS's armrest.

"Alright, alright, keep your hoods on." Krith laughed as the noise died down. "Some of you already know about this, _*cough Udu cough_* but here it goes..."

_**One day not-so-long-ago, in the lovely city of Minas Morgul, there resided a great and powerful wraith of unsurpassed intelligence by the name of Krith the Awesome. **_

"By unsurpassed, you mean he lived alone in this city?" Khamul remarked wryly.

"Shut up, don't interrupt an artist at his work."

_**This wraith did not live alone, but with eight other wraiths he had had to deal with for centuries. On this particular day, he was bored. Bored bored bored. So irrepressibly bored, he went to Udu for ideas. **_

"_**Udu, I'm booooreed." **_

"_**Then why don't you do something about it?"**_

"_**There's nothing to do," Our hero pointed out. "What're you doing?" **_

"_**Sulking over my lack of brilliant April Fools pranks." The wraith replied gruffly, obviously perturbed he didn't possess the mental capacities for such genius.**_

"Excuse me?!"

"Shhh!"

"_**It's April Fools Day today?! Why didn't you say so?" Krith the Awesome exclaimed incredulously. **_

"_**I just did. You're welcome." **_

"_**Farewell, boredom! C'mon, Udu, pull yourself out of your apathy; I have a plan that will bring bountiful amusement to both of us..." **_

_**Intrigued by his compatriot's display of extraordinary intelligence, Udu followed Krith as they made they way into the mess hall kitchen, specifically, The Pantry of Outlandish Horrors. The Pantry contained multiple examples of disgusting food no self-respecting wraith would venture near or attempt to consume, ranging from mustard to oranges to hummus to lettuce. The purpose of The Pantry was to use as a form of punishment and/or torture for misbehaving goblins and/or Nazgûl, and was studiously given a radius of six feet whenever someone was forced to walk past the dreaded Pantry. **_

_**It was to this cabinet Krith the Awesome now lead the apprehensive Udu, and opened the door with a flourish. **_

"_**Uh, Krith? What do you think you're doing?" **_

"_**Being a genius! What's it look like?" Krith grinned devilishly, as he reached his hand into the cavernous black hole and pulled out a small jar containing some gelatinous substance. **_

"_**You do realize that the food in there is stuff that normal people eat right? Elves, men, dwarves..." Udu's voice dropped lower. "**_**Mortals****_." _**

"_**Of course I realize that," Krith retorted. "And who do we know who has a particular phobia of normal people food?" **_

_**A pause while Udu processed the implications. **_

"Alright, _I_ came up with the idea, and one more insult to my intelligence, and I'll knock you into the lava."

"Fine, fine, just let me finish."

"_**Gakh!" They chorused together, because they were obviously on the same level in regards to mental prowess. **_

_**Five minutes later found the duo banging on Gakh's door, grins spread wide and their Imp Dial turned on full blast. **_

"_**Yes?" Gakh asked as he opened he door, pitifully unsuspecting of any malevolent designs.**_

"Oi!"

"_**Happy National Blood Day!" Krith chirped as he shoved a plate full of jiggling red stuff towards Gakh.**_

"_**National Blood Day?" **_

"_**Why, didn't you know?" Udu gasped in disbelief. "We even made you some specially coagulated blood a la Udu."**_

"**A-hem_."_**

"_**A la Udu and Krith." He amended, gesturing to the dish. "Go on, try some!"**_

_**Gakh eyed the plate, then the pair in front of him. "You've never made me blood before..." He said hesitantly. **_

"_**It's never been National Blood Day before!" Krith reasoned. **_

_**Gakh looked at the food again. "I do love some coagulated blood." He muttered. **_

"_**Then try it, and enjoy yourself!" Udu smiled as they pushed past him and made their way back down the hallway. **_

"_**Do you think he'll realize what it is?" Krith snickered.**_

"_**Weell..." Udu drawled, glancing at his wristwatch. "I'd say it'll take him about five minutes to eat our culinary creation, probably a minute to figure out the weird taste, and another three seconds to find the empty labeled jar I left in his room."**_

**-Exactly six minutes and three seconds later-**

"_**AAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!" **_

"_**Told ya." **_

"_**KRITH! UDU!" Gakh shouted, barging out of his room in a blind rage. **_

"_**Yes?" **_

"_**You...you made me eat...JELLY?!" **_

"_**Uh, yes?" **_

"_**JELLY!"**_

"_**We heard you the first time." Krith smirked, making a show of rubbing his ear. **_

"_**I'M GOING TO DIE NOW AND IT'S ALL YOUR GUYS FAULT!" **_

"_**You're already dead." Udu added helpfully.**_

"_**THIS ISN'T FUNNY!" **_

"_**Actually, it is." **_

"_**Be honest now, did you really like the taste?" **_

"**DAAARRRGH!" **

"And that's why Gakh now hates/fears jelly." Krith finished as Gakh buried himself in blankets to hide his embarrassment while the group laughed and chuckled.

"That was good thinking." MoS nodded his approval with a teasing grin. "How does jelly taste, Gakh?"

"Despite the fact that the The Pantry of Outlandish Horrors is off-limits," The Boss stated. "It _was _April Fools Day, so I'll let the breach of protocol slide. Just this once."

"'National Blood Day'? Really?" Kraak questioned incredulously, laughing so hard he hiccuped.

"Buck up, Gakh, it's not that bad." Rut comforted, poking the mass of blankets.

"Mmmf."

"We'll forget eventually." Khamul added, expertly spearing a marshmallow on his roasting stick.

"Maybe, but probably not." Zag chortled, whapping the Ringwraith-burrito with a pillow.

"Oh, so it's _that _kind of party!" Ski said, grabbing some pillows for himself and hitting Zag over the head.

"Hey!"

"Free-for-all!" The MoS called as seats and food were abandoned and an impromptu pillow fight began.

"Take that, miserable worms!" The Chief yelled, lobbing a projectile over a barricade of folding chairs and hitting Rut squarely in the face.

"Arm yourselves, men!" Zag cried to Udu and Khamûl, snatching up as many pillows as he could carry.

"I am your commanding officer, you take orders from _ME!_" Khamûl retorted, swinging his pillow and catching the MoS in the gut.

"Watch out!" Kraak called as Krith hit him in the back and then bowled him over, leaving them thrashing on the floor in a tangle of fabric and flailing limbs.

"I will avenge!" Rut howled, aiming for Witchy as he fired pillow after pillow in alarming rapidity. Meanwhile Gakh, still entwined in his protective blankets, rolled on the ground trying to dodge trampling feet like some weird deranged mummy.

"For Mordor!" MoS shouted, leading his team as he charged into the fray to face off with Udu. "Hello. I am the Mouth of Sauron. You killed my people. Prepa-"

Udu smacked him. Hard.

The MoS tried again. "Hello, I am the Mou-"

More feathers to the face.

"C'mon, you gotta let me say the whole thing!" He whined at last.

"All's fair in war and pillow fights!" Udu shot back, sending a finishing blow to the Mouth's rather expansive mouth.

The fearsome battle raged for several more minutes before all, both victors and vanquished, lay exhausted on the floor, feathers, pillows, and squashed marshmallows scattered everywhere.

"Shall we call it a draw?" Khamûl asked at length, letting out a long breath as he sat up. "I'm starting to get a migraine."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we?" Ski responded sarcastically, chucking a last pillow at his lieutenant.

"No, seriously, this is beginning hurt more then that time I tried coffee." Khamûl insisted, rubbing his forehead vigorously.

"_That _sounds like an interesting story." The MoS commented, uprighting his chair and plopping down into it.

"Nah, he just basically ricocheted off the walls for four hours and then woke up with one of his classic migraines." Kraak replied dismissively, omitting the fact that they had 'forgotten' to inform Khamûl of caffeine's side effects.

"Coffee is evil." The Black Easterling said darkly. "Coffee is bad. Very bad."

"More evil then us?" Rut joked as he helped un-mummify Gakh.

"Hey, can you imagine what an elf would be like on coffee?" Zag asked suddenly, as they all collectively chuckled at the various undignified mental images such a scenario presented.

"Well, this was fun." Krith gave a sigh of pleasure, popping another marshmallow into his mouth.

"What's that?" Gakh asked suddenly, embarrassment left behind as he pointed to a dark figure at the volcano's entrance.

'That' turned out to be an orc with a very urgent message for the Chief, handing him a thick missive with an imposing red seal.

"It's from the Master," The Boss said at last in a hushed voice, all the laughter dissipating from the group, as he gingerly opened the letter.

The Nazgûl and the MoS watched as the Witch King read its contents, his expression changing from worried to curious to alarm to disbelief.

"What is it? What's it say?" Udu asked, unable to contain his impatience any longer as the Chief finally tore his gaze away from the all-consuming letter.

"There's...been a...development in the war efforts." He said slowly, refolding the paper carefully as he stood up.

"I never pegged you as the kind for dramatics, but now I'm reconsidering that line of thought," MoS grumbled. "Just tell us what it said."

"We're-the Ringwraiths-to go to the far west on a mission, in a little land called Shire, to find someone named _Baggins_." The Boss paused to let the words sink in moment.

"A mission?"

"Just you guys? Not ME?"

"What's Shire?"

"Or where is it exactly?"

"Do they have good food?"

"What kind of name is _Baggins_?"

"Do we have to leave now?"

"Can we bring some marshmallows for the road?"

"Or my drum set?"

"_Why us?!" _They all cried as the clamor and noise level rose exponentially until the Chief waved their questions away.

"The reason the Master's sending us on this mission is simple." He took a breath before delivering the five words that would change all of their lives. (Or whatever you call existence when you're dead/not dead)

"The Ring has been found."

* * *

_Greetings, my beloved readers! Sorry for the delay in posting; first I was gone for spring break, then I had exams, and then my body decided to get sick with a cold. Don't worry, I'm feeling better, though this chapter was written with many a sniffle and cough. Colds. Bleh. :P_

_Thanks for all the wonderful reviews last chapter, in response to a query a guest left; wraiths have always had noses, (A fact implied from the whole sniffing thing so prominently displayed in both books and movies) and if you're asking about the visible facet of the olfactory senses, I would kindly refer you to the genre of this story: humor aka unrealistic plot lines. :) _

_Also, if there are any of the species Homo Whovians reading this, it would make my day if you checked out my first Who fic that I posted this month and gave me some feedback. *nudge nudge wink wink* Aaand that's the end of my shameless plug. _

_Thanks again y'all! Leave a review, shoot me a PM, follow, favorite...you know the drill. _

_Two more chapters...Love y'all!_


	8. Friends, Not Food

"I still can't believe it." Khamûl muttered to Kraak as the Nazgûl walked into the courtyard of the former Minas Ithil.

"Neither can I...the One Ring found after all these years?" Kraak responded, shaking his head incredulously as he ruthlessly treaded the ground with his heavy boots.

It'd only been yesterday when Sauron had sent his shocking news that the Ringwraiths were to travel far west to retrieve their Master's precious jewelry, and the Chief had accordingly called them into action early the next morning.

"I'm not looking forward to this mission." Udu grumbled as the Witch King entered, leading a string of nine black horses, who pawed and stamped the ground impatiently.

"Ah, good, you're all here." The Chief greeted them pleasantly. The once-unattainable dream of creating a Ringwraith band had been miraculously restored overnight, and thusly the sorcerer of Angmar was in a good mood.

"What is it today, Boss?" Zag asked, eying the horses suspiciously.

"Isn't it obvious? To prepare for the mission, I am to retrain you in the art of riding. The Master desires all possible speed while retaining a certain level of competence, so with luck we shall leave tomorrow."

"How much competence are we talking exactly?"

"Tomorrow!" Rut cried in dismay. "But I haven't finished designing my new battle robes yet!"

"Why can't we take the fell beasts?" Ski asked glumly. "We haven't ridden horses in ages."

"The last time I had contact with a horse was when I was putting its meat in my mouth." Kraak input with a sigh of remembrance. "Grilled horse ribs are second to none."

"These particular ones appear to have a generous amount of flesh on their bones." Gakh licked his lips appreciatively. (Though to a human all they would've heard is smacking sounds. Probably best, a Nazgûl's tongue is not the most delightful thing to view.)

"How long are we going to be gone for?" This came from Krith, who was secretly hoping he'd have a chance to purchase a dwarven drum set. Those hairy little people sure knew how to make a drum right.

"That's enough!" Their captain commanded. "Yes, we are leaving tomorrow, after all, the sooner we return with the Ring, the sooner Master will let us start our band."

"And give us cheesecake." Zag muttered. "Never forget the cheesecake."

Murmurs of agreement floated through the courtyard. The wraiths were rather divided in their feelings for the mission. On one hand, there was the extreme inconvenience of leaving their cozy fortress and riding halfway across Middle-Earth. On the other, the prospect of an adventure: people to threaten, enemies to slay, glory to be won, bands to be started, and much food to be eaten.

"To answer the rest of your questions," The Boss continued. "We are attempting a certain degree of stealth; fell beasts are not known for possessing that quality. And if all goes well, we should be back in a few weeks at the latest."

"Well, when dfo we start then?" Ski sighed in resignation, glancing not without some trepidation (and hunger) at the huge bundle of horseflesh before him.

"Hey Boss, can we eat these horses when we're done?" Udu asked as he walked over to his mount.

"I second the motion." Khamûl said with a grin.

"I third the motion." Rut piped up.

"That's not a thing, Rut." Gakh scolded.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No," The Chief broke in with an eye-roll. "You may not eat them. As tasty as they may look, the animals are for riding _only_ today." He finished by attaching a glare to emphasize his words.

"But we're huuunngrrry!"

"Firstly," The Witch King instructed, ignoring Kraak's pleas. "Approach your mount, holding the reins firmly in one hand." He demonstrated on his own horse as the other eight mimicked his movements.

"I do remember some equestrian skills, even if it has been several thousand years." Khamûl commented airily, right before his horse broke away from his grasp, whinnying triumphantly.

"You were saying, Khamûl?" Krith chuckled while the lieutenant commenced a heated chase of his steed.

"Meanwhile," The Chief sighed, restraining the urge to face-palm. 'Turn to face your saddle. Grip it in both hands, put one foot in the stirrups, pull yourself up and swing your leg over." He mounted his restless animal and looked up to see how the others were faring.

"I did it!" Gakh crowed proudly while Rut, dangling precariously from his stirrup, struggled to right himself.

"Help!"

"A little stuck there?" Ski laughed as his horse unexpectedly started walking forward. "Woah, horsey."

Krith had mounted backwards and was staring blankly at his horse's back, apparently unsure how to proceed.

Kraak was lying stomach-first in the saddle Superman-style, while his horse took a devious pleasure in constantly moving to upset what little balance his rider had.

Zag had positioned himself rather well, unfortunately, his saddle wasn't fastened correctly, allowing him to slip ninety-degrees to the side where he hung like some twisted monkey.

Khamûl had captured his escapee and was trying to untangle his reins as Udu struggled to pull himself onto his horse. Altogether, it was a pretty pathetic sight for some of Mordor's greatest preparing to embark on a incredibly important mission.

The Boss sighed again, allowing himself to face-palm this time, freshly reminded why he and not they were captain. "I don't get paid enough for this job." He muttered, understanding now why he had been the only candidate for the position.

"We don't get paid, period!" Krith shouted helpfully, startling his horse in the process and ending up with a face full of dirt.

"Which really should be addressed in our employee surveys." Zag mused. "There's some aspects of evil lordship that could use some work."

"Like insurance." Ski commented. "I can't remember when I ever had decent coverage."

"Alright, now what do we do?" Khamûl asked, finally seated on his horse and wobbling unsteadily.

"Uurrggh!" Rut grunted, pulling himself upright. "I say we deserve a break...and food."

"No horse meat!" The Chief called. "And no break, time's a-wasting!"

"How're you guys getting _up_ there?" Udu complained in frustration, hopping up and down in a futile attempt to land in the saddle.

"I'm sorry you don't have my muscular forearms," Ski tisked, daring to break into a trot.

"It's all in the forearms." Kraak agreed, twisting around in his seat so he faced the correct way.

"My forearms are just as ripped as any of you." Udu argued, managing to hoist himself upwards to prove his point.

"Maybe, but do you use 'Gothmog's Enhanced Protein Powder'?" Zag asked as he, still sideways, tried to show off his muscles. "Makes all the difference, I'm telling you."

"I tried it once and it tasted like dirt." Krith said, climbing to his feet and looking worse for the wear after his kiss with the ground.

"You taste like dirt." Gakh countered from across the yard.

"Your mother tastes like dirt!"

"She _is_ dirt; she died a couple thousand years ago, remember?"

"Do you have to suck the joy out of everything?"

"That's enough." The Chief broke in on the bantering. "It's time to actually start riding. Once you're astride your steed, squeeze the horse's sides with your legs to move forward."

"Sounds simple enough." Rut panted, straightening himself before giving his animal a solid kick that would put a kangaroo to shame.

"Not like that!" The Witch King exclaimed in exasperation as the angry horse bolted away, a terrified Rut clinging desperately to its back.

"Boss, these horses look more appetizing by the minute." Ski groaned, rubbing his growling stomach. "I'm not even put-off by the smell anymore."

"I told you," Zag smirked. "Steaks waiting to happen. They smell much better once they're cooked."

"They are not food!" The Chief reiterated tiredly, massaging his head. Khamûl's migraines seemed to be contagious.

"Then what are they?" Kraak challenged as he gingerly nudged his horse into a smooth canter.

"First of all, I'm impressed you're not falling off right now. Secondly, think of them as your friends, not food."

"But Ch-" Rut started with a frown.

"Repeat after me: 'horses are friends, not food'." The Boss said seriously as he watched his minions try to keep their seats and go faster at the same time.

"But-"

"Say it."

"Horses are friends, not food." The Nazgûl repeated together, looking remarkably disappointed and letdown as they did so.

"Barbecue just sounds so good right now." Udu whispered to Khamûl as they practiced riding around the courtyard.

"I could've made my world-famous smoky water buffalo sauce." Khamûl returned regretfully, pushing his horse to a higher speed. While he agreed with Witchy that all possible speed should be made, (glory awaited him in music and vocals, after all) his stomach was currently higher on his priority list than his sense of duty.

"World-famous? I've never heard of..." Zag began as he rode up before trailing off at Khamûl's glower. (Rumor was he practiced that glower in front of his bedroom mirror an hour a day. Awesomely-evil looks are hard work, you know.)

After several more minutes of passably average riding and relatively few falls, the Chief decided to move to the next step in their accelerated training.

"Now, I'm going to let you ride outside the fortress," He instructed as the huge metal front gates creaked open. "It's a much larger space, so you'll be able to ride faster, but take it sl-" His cautionary words were cut off as eight ebony horses stampeded past, their accompanying riders whooping and hollering as they raced like a whirlwind through the doorway.

The Boss gasped at their reckless speed as they careened down the stone bridge leading to the valley. "I can't watch this." He moaned, covering his eyes in despair. After a moment of silence, he peeked out from one metal-clad finger to behold whatever disaster had befallen his wraiths.

They were...all still upright and on their horses. Not only that, they seemed to be doing quite well, compared to their laughable riding performance earlier. The Witch King rubbed his eyes in astonishment, trying to comprehend what was happening. "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" He asked in wonderment.

"See Boss? We're actually not half-bad!" Gakh cried happily as all the wraiths amazingly displayed a better sense of balance when going full-speed versus at a slow walk.

"Only you guys would be talented enough to fall off a standing horse yet stay on a galloping one." The Captain snorted sarcastically, recovering from his shock as he joined them in the open space.

"Hey guys! We're talented!"

"This is more like it!" Udu shouted gleefully, a black blur of horse and Nazgûl.

"It's almost fun!" Kraak agreed, sending his horse flying over a log as they pounded up a slight rise. "But, all the activity almost makes you hungrier."

"Hear, hear!" Rut cheered as he whipped past, swaying only slightly in his saddle.

"Hear what?" Ski asked Rut, trying unsuccessfully to untangle his robes from his reins and tack.

"I do like my meat on the go." Zag reasoned, urging his steed on faster.

"Hey, we might actually have a shot at completing this mission!" Krith called with a grin, the picture of positivity as he nosily clattered across the bridge.

"Our band's waiting, guys!" Khamûl exclaimed, pulling around to race back towards the gate where the Boss was trotting out to meet them.

"How're we doing, Chief?" Gakh asked the Chief as he proudly galloped by.

"I'm seeing some amounts of progress." Came the critical response. "Rut! Get that animal's mane out of your mouth!"

"Just a nibble?"

"No."

"Not even a wee one?"

"N-O spells 'no'. Now everyone stop running around for a minute."

The wraiths all slowed down and stopped in a row facing their captain. There was a slight pause before eight Nazgûl simultaneously collapsed and fell from their horses, their balance almost magically dissipating.

"Ooooh!"

"The pain!"

"My new robes! They're filthy now!"

"Mmmmrgghh."

"Let's just eat them and get it over with!"

"I've decided walking is much more hazardous then running while on a horse."

"One does not simply ride a horse out of Mordor."

"And suddenly…ground."

"What happened?" They cried as they stiffly pulled themselves up while the Witch King looked on with a thoughtful expression.

"Well, you're supposed to demonstrate your riding skills to Sauron, and it appears none of you can manage to stay on a standing horse." He returned, brow furrowing in thought.

"Does this mean we won't get our band?" Zag asked worriedly. No horse riding skills meant no mission, no mission meant no One Ring, no One Ring meant no Sauron ruling Middle-Earth, and no Sauron ruling Middle-Earth meant no band (or cheesecake) for any of the Nazgûl.

"Not if I can help it." The Chief said grimly with a determined air.

"I smell an brilliant plan in the works." Krith commented, wiping dirt from his face for the second time that afternoon.

A smirking smile was his only answer.

* * *

"Impressive! Most impressive!" The Mouth of Sauron applauded as the Nazgûl hastily dismounted after their horsemanship display in Barad-Dur. "The Captain has taught you well. I don't think I saw any of you go slower then a fast canter the whole time!"

"Pssh, who has time for walking when you can run?" Zag scoffed, secretly relieved the presentation was over without revealing their amateur 'progress' aka 'complete lack of stationary coordination'.

"Thank you, MoS, it's been quite the learning curve." Gakh admitted, rubbing his sore elbow.

"More like learning fall." Udu amended.

"_How soon shall you retrieve my precious?" _Sauron demanded anxiously, peering down from his lofty seat on top of the tower.

"We will be on our way tomorrow, my lord." The Chief assured him with confidence.

"_My precious is calling me. Bring me my precious now!" _The Dark Lord wailed dismally, a giant tear welling in his fiery eye.

"Has he been like this all day?" Kraak asked MoS in an undertone.

"You have no idea."

"Look out below!" Ski yelled as boiling tears started to rain from the tower, splashing on the paved path with a giant _sizzle_. The tears continued, and pandemonium broke out as everyone raced to avoid the super-heated liquid.

"Take cover!"

"It burns!"

"_PREEECCIOOOUSS!" _

* * *

The next morning came rather quickly for the tired wraiths, (yet not soon enough for the impatient Sauron) and they woke to that destroyer of horsemen, the bane of riders everywhere: cramps.

"Ummmgh, my thighs are burning!" Ski groaned, attempting to stand before falling back into a chair.

"But think of the band!" Rut encouraged, stretching his aching arms. "All we have to do is take the Ring from some measly creature named _Baggins_ and we're done!"

"I think I have orc intestines for legs, they're so wobbly." Zag sighed, leaning on Udu for support.

"Guys, I'm still hungry." Krith complained as he staggered towards the doorway.

"I have an idea." Gakh piped up with a smirk.

"Hey, that's my line." Zag complained as they gathered around Gakh.

* * *

The Chief yawned luxuriously as he sat up in his bed, scratching absently at his cheek. Today was the day: a new mission after all these years and a new band on the horizon. He inhaled deeply; something smelled absolutely _scrumptious_, and he was starving. Pulling on his favorite fuzzy robe, the words 'I'm Evil And I Know It' emblazoned across the back, the Captain followed the intoxicating aroma to the kitchen. Pushing the door open, he found all of the wraiths seated at the table, just as Khamûl was placing a large dish of barbecued meat down, curls of steam wafting from the succulent-looking food.

"Surprise, Boss!" They all called cheerily as the Witch King was struck dumb once again, taking in the carefully prepared meal before him.

"What is this?" He asked warily, sitting down in his chair at the head of the table. "Eating without me? That's hardly a surprise."

"No, silly, we made you meal." Kraak explained, gesturing to the food.

"Who are you and what have you done to my idiotic, insensitive, incompetent wraiths?"

"_What_ did you call us?!" Udu yelped indignantly.

"Never mind, you're back." The Chief chuckled, grabbing a drumstick. "But seriously, what is this for?"

"For you, Boss." Khamûl shrugged nonchalantly. "After yesterday, we realized how much you do, and how none of us would be getting a band if it wasn't for you."

"So, we're thanking you." Zag added, helping himself to a generous chunk of meat.

"Is this...sentiment?" The Witch King wondered, unconsciously letting a tearful sniffle escape his stern demeanor.

"Nooooo waaay."

"Gross!"

"What a disgusting idea."

"Yuck."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth."

"Ewww!"

"*gags*"

"Are you crying, Chief?!"

"Of course not, you blundering buffoons!" The Captain shot back, a frown quickly slipping into place. "Morgoth himself couldn't have had more annoying minions!"

"Oh good, I was getting worried that we'd lost our touch." Ski sighed in relief, drowning his food in Khamûl's 'world-famous' sauce and digging in with gusto.

"Now that that's settled..." Rut trailed off awkwardly. "Let's eat!"

The next fifteen minutes were an excellent example of how the adult Nazgûl thrives in its natural habitat. Most tend to ravenously finish a grown animal and leave only bits of bone marrow after a meal. Some wraiths have been observed to also eat these meager leavings, claiming it strengthens their teeth. However, since the existence of teeth in Ringwraiths has never been properly documented, this claim remains unreliable and uncredited.

"Man, that was gooood." Krith patted his distended stomach appreciatively. "Props to the chef."

"We are the chefs." Udu reminded him, unashamedly licking his plate.

"I haven't tasted something so delectable since we deep-fat fried that dumb orc from Cirith Ungol." Gakh grinned.

The Boss cocked an eyebrow. "A deep-fat fried what?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing whatever?" He pressed.

"Nothing whatever." Gakh repeated.

"I'll let it pass." The Chief decided, finishing off his drumstick. Food was food, after all.

"Careful Boss, you might actually keep being nice to us." Kraak laughed.

"No fear there, this is but a temporary respite from my naturally cruel and driving personality."

"I suppose we have to get on the road soon, then, huh?" Rut asked regretfully, sucking on a leg bone.

"Yes, we do." Witchy nodded. "But first, a toast: to our mission!" He said, clunking a fork against his tumbler of ale and knocking it over in the process.

"No, to our band." Udu corrected as they raised their glasses.

"To our band!" They cried, downing the liquid in large gulps.

"By the way," The Captain paused as they cleared away the dishes. "What kind of meat was this? I've never had anything so juicy."

Zag glanced at Khamûl, who coughed and looked at Ski, who was studying the floor with great earnestness.

"Well, you see sir," Zag began, phrasing his words carefully. "We were very hungry, and they were just _standing _there-"

"-Practically begging to be eaten." Khamûl interposed.

"We found an extra one, anyways." Ski assured the Chief, whose frown was rapidly deepening.

"Don't tell me, I just ate a horse."

"Horseflesh is good, no?" Krith laughed weakly.

"What about 'friends not food'?"

"Friends can be eaten, too." Kraak justified.

A tense moment followed before the Boss relaxed and surprised them all by grinning. "You're right," He agreed. "And they _were _exceptionally tasty."

"Then it's forward into glory!" Gakh cheered.

"_Baggins _here we come!"

* * *

_Guys, it has _not_ been a month and a half since my last update. I'm so sorry, I'll spare you my excuses, save for the fact that I procrastinate and am horrible at time-management. :P _

_Anybody catch the two vague movie references other than the pretty obvious Nemo one? (Hint: Star Wars and Disney. But which specific movie? Mwahaha) _

_Guest: So glad I made your day! You made mine, too, haha. _

_CheerUpSleepyJean: Thanks for the compliments! I love hearing feedback._

_So, one more chapter... *drumroll* Do not let your hearts be troubled. I think I've decided to write a very AU sequel for our beloved Ringwraiths. Until then, cross your fingers that the ninth chapter will be out relatively soonish! Also, I posted a poll on my profile for fun and it'd make me beyond happy if you'd go vote for your favorite wraith. _

_Thanks for all the reviews, follows, favorites, etc. Y'all have been absolutely fantastic! :) _


	9. Happily Never After

_Note: All of the scenes in this chapter are based off of the movie version, except for the part at the ford, which is based off of the book. So basically there is no Arwen running around trying to be as cool Glorfindel. :) The time lapses are also book-based. _

* * *

The sun was creeping beneath the green hills of the Shire, sending out golden rays touched with pink as dusk threw its cloak across the heavens. The stars peered out from their lofty homes as the world prepared for rest. Everything exuded an air of comfort and tranquility. Suddenly, the picturesque silence was shattered by a high pitched whine as nine figures rode through the gloom.

"Are we _there_ yet?" This came from Krith, who was still miserably scratching the midge bites he'd so generously received in Midgewater. Heck, they weren't even supposed to _get_ bug bites! Were they some sort of spectral parasite?

"We'll get there when we get there!" The Witch King said irritably, jerking his horse's reins as they plodded forward. One could only be asked that age-old question for so long (53 times and counting) before something snapped.

"No need to get uncivil about a simple question, Chief." Zag said, coming to Krith's defense as he slumped over his horse's neck.

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you!"

"Jeez, _someone's_ having a bad day." Ski muttered, attempting to scrub the weariness from his features.

After over a week and a half of strenuous riding, the Nazgûl were tired and cranky. And this was before they had even reached their destination.

"Alright, who's got The Map?" The Boss asked shortly after a few more minutes of silent riding. They were just past the borders of the Shire, and that Gollum prisoner unfortunately hadn't been able to assist in any more specific directions. Rude.

"Udu." Several wraiths chorused, turning (rather slowly and painfully) in their saddles to point at the aforementioned Nazgul, who sunk a little lower in his robes.

"Hand me The Map, Udu." The Chief ordered, reaching out a hand to retrieve the all-important Map.

"Uhh, I, uh, gave it to Khamul." He stuttered nervously, looking for all the world like a slowly melting pool of black ooze as he slid lower in his seat.

"And I gave it back!" Khamûl retorted, refusing to be dragged into someone else's incompetence.

"And who exactly did you give it back to?" The Boss clipped out, his fuse growing shorter by the second at the forthcoming delays.

"I set it next to the food stores when we made camp yesterday."

"Oh, was _that_ what this was?" Rut asked innocently, holding up a shredded -was that bite marks?- and mangled piece of paper. "I thought it was our dessert."

"Rut, I told you that paper's bad for your complexion!" Gakh scolded as he eyed the mutilated page disapprovingly.

"It's so good though! I couldn't help…" Rut began before quailing under the threatening glare of their already highly peeved Captain.

"Is. That. The. Map?" He ground out, forcing the words past gritted teeth.

"Yeess?" Came the frightened squeak.

If the Ringwraiths had ever wondered what a human-sized volcano would look like, they now knew as they gazed upon the errupting Chief. "YOU _ATE _THE MAP?!"

"Captain, your blood pressure!" Krith cried, trying to be helpful yet failing utterly as the Witch King's wrath was now turned towards him.

"MY BLOOD PRESSURE IS FINE!"

"...you sure?..."

"Why don't we ask a local for directions?" Kraak intervened hastily, knowing that heads would start to roll if the Boss wasn't quickly distracted. (And seeing as they couldn't die, those heads would be sure to roll multiple times) "After all, it can't get much worse."

Right on cue, thunder cracked across the sky as rain immediately started to fall, drenching the group in opposition to Kraak's words.

"You just had to say it." Khamûl groaned, pulling his hood further up on his head. Trust it to storm right at this exact moment. Had Kraak accidentally done some sort of rain dance or something? Or did the Valar just hate them? Probably the latter. The lieutenant glared at the overcast sky in defiance of those ancient beings. The only plus side to the downpour was that it served to cool their leader's temper somewhat. Maybe there was a slight silver lining, Khamûl pondered. Call it a hidden blessing? A gift?

The rain suddenly stopped.

"I'm sorry, fellas." The Boss let out a heavy sigh as he wiped his wet forehead, staring at his surroundings morosely. "This mission has got me super worked up-"

"Didn't notice." Udu grumbled resentfully, disgruntled at the thought he'd have to oil his armor again tonight to prevent rusting. Sauron really needed to provide higher quality gear for his servants. _Might be a good idea to bring it up when we get back. That and Evil Servant Appreciation Day gifts..._

"-but we just have to succeed. " The Chief continued as they rode up to a simple-looking home, that was really a hole, outside which a strange little creature (_Hobbit_, as they called themselves) stood puffing on his evening pipe.

"Okay, Ski, go ask him for directions to _Baggins's_ house." The Chief instructed as they pulled up a few yards away from the unsuspecting hobbit.

"Aw, why me?"

"Because your Captain commands! Now, shoo!"

Ski reluctantly approach the creature, who looked up with a frightened start at the looming figure above him. _Dang, he's tiny. This is the type of creature that kept the Ring from Master all those years? _The idea made Ski want to laugh, and he was dangerously close to letting out an undignified snort as it was. He pulled himself together and bent a little to deliver his request. It wouldn't do to show weakness in front of your enemy, no matter how small and unintimidating.

"Hi, um, I was wondering if you knew where-"

Ski, being a logical wraith, had spoken in Black Speech, so all the hobbit heard coming from this scary stranger was _kjak haglei wpojf knohfg_. (Or something like that) And so, being a reasonable hobbit, he proceeded to do the only reasonable thing such a reasonable hobbit like himself would do: scream bloody murder, run inside (reasonably fast) and slam the door with vigor.

"What did I do? Was it the stench?" Ski asked worriedly as his companions rode up. "I mean, we've been riding on horses for almost two weeks…"

"I won't deny that you smell." Zag chuckled in spite of his soaking robes and steed. "The inhabitants apparently don't know Black Speech."

"Wow, genius right here." Gakh called jokingly as they pushed their horses faster along the cobblestone road.

"Hey look, it's another one!" Rut said, pointing towards a hobbit walking ahead of them. "I'm going to wave, first impressions and all that."

The middle-aged hobbit turned at the sound of hooves, holding his lantern up higher to peer into the gloom. "Who goes there?" He called gruffly.

"Hiii!" Rut greeted as he ran past, waving cheerily. At least, that was what he meant to do. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten his sword was drawn and in his waving hand, allowing for the suddenly decapitation that occurred.

"Really, Rut? I'll do the next one." Krith volunteered as they clopped along the road to the next 'house'. "I'm good with people."

"Are you sure?" Udu put in doubtfully, eyeing the hobbit who was chopping wood in his front yard. "He has an axe."

"So what, now he's a serial killer?" Khamûl snorted, appraising the situation with an experienced eye.

"Maybe. Stranger Danger 101."

The man's dog noticed them at this point and began to bark furiously while the little man gazed nervously at the menacing group that had parked unabashedly on his poor petunia bed.

"Rather rude of the dog." Kraak remarked in an undertone to Gakh. "What've we done to deserve such barking?"

"Canine manners, man."

The hobbit still stood before them with fear in his eyes, uncertainty flooding his face.

"You're up, then, Krith." The Chief said, with a nod of encouragement. Axe or no axe, they were going to get that Ring back if it kille-. _Darn, _The Boss thought in frustration. _Appropriate provincially sayings are so much harder to think up when you're undead. People don't realize how tough we got it..._

At this point, the overwhelming awesomeness of the wraiths was apparently too much for the dog, who started to whimper and backed into the hole.

"Yeah, dog, that's who's boss." Udu smirked at the animal's terror, pulling a face at him before he slunk out of sight.

"Shh, let Krith talk." Khamûl insisted as the hobbit's uneasiness clearly grew.

"Oh, and ask him where the best beer can be found around here." Zag added pleadingly. "I'm simply parched."

"You had three tumblers full at the last tavern!" Ski protested. "No, ask where we can get some meat."

"Oooh, what about a pancreas pie?" Gakh hummed in delight.

"Guys, I won't be able to ask him _anything_ if you all don't shut up for a minute." Krith the Impromptu Translator replied with more than a fair touch of sarcasm. ("I'm so proud." Khamûl choked out. "My snark lessons paid off.")

"Touché." Kraak agreed.

Krith cleared his throat loudly before hissing softly in the Common Tongue: "_Shire...Baggins…_" He was rewarded for his efforts with the man's trembling reply, "No Baggins around here. They're up by Hobbiton. That way!" He pointed west before hurrying into his house as the Nazgûl raced past, eager to reach their quarry.

"Good work, Krith!" The Boss congratulated.

"Told ya I was good with people!"

* * *

_One Week Later…_

"I can't believe you let them get away!" The Witch King growled unhappily.

"There was water!"

"And sharks are in water!"

"And sharks are bad!"

"They ruined my surfing career!"

"Okay, okay," The Chief relented, mentally kicking himself for the prank he'd pulled that had instigated the wraiths' fear of water. _It comes back to bite you every time… _"Where are they headed now?"

"A little town called Bree." Rut commented, still shuddering from his too-close-for-comfort encounter with water. "We can sense the Ring there."

"What're we waiting for then? Forward onto Bree!" The Captain cried, wheeling his mount around towards the distant hamlet.

"I feel like this is when the dramatic music is supposed to start playing…"

"We make our own music, we _are_ the music." Udu informed him.

"Dum dum da! Dum dum da! Dum da da dah! Da da dah!"

The Nazgûl soon reached Bree, and were momentarily stopped by the tall hedge surrounding the village. An unpleasant drizzle had started, giving a gloomy air to the town as they congregated at the gate.

"Should we knock?" Ski asked after a pause.

"Heroes on an important mission need not condescend to knock." Zag said with an air of importance, fluffing the collar of his robe self-righteously.

"But we're setting an example for all the children who shall read about how our famous band was begun and strive to be like us." Kraak argued. "Let's show _some_ good form."

"So we knock, but then we can run the gatekeeper over, right?" Gakh asked hopefully, rubbing his metal-coated hands together in glee.

"Definitely."

"'Defs' would be way cooler, Kraak."

"I haven't played 'crush-the-innocent-person-standing-in-your-way' for a long time." Udu remarked thoughtfully.

"Okay, who's knocking then?" Khamûl questioned, clutching his saddle to prevent an imminent greeting with the dirt, one he'd rather avoid.

"I will." The Chief stated, riding up to the door and giving a good, firm knock to the praise of his subordinates.

"Nice technique there."

"All in the wrist, man."

"Solid, solid."

"That form, though."

"Aaaand, CHARGE!" They cried as they burst through the wooden door, trampling it (and ole' Harry the gatekeeper) into the mud as they swerved through the narrow streets of Bree.

Let that be a lesson, children. If you ever turn spy for evil men, you will be squashed and stampeded on by said evil men with a very large (and structurally unsound) wooden board.

"There! They're in that inn!" Krith called, gesturing at a sign that bore the words _The Prancing Pony _alongside a ridiculously overweight rearing horse.

The Ringwraiths skidded to a halt while the Chief ordered Udu, Zag, Khamûl and Gakh inside to finish off the pesky hobbits. The chosen four clumsily dismounted and stealthily opened the door, moving in single file past the main hall and up the stairs.

"Steady now, men." Khamûl whispered as he cautiously turned the door handle, allowing them to view the four hobbits snugly ensconced in their beds. "On my mark."

Each wraith positioned himself over a bed, drawing his sword to hold quivering inches above the rough woolen covers.

"3...2...1...NOW!"

Silver blades plunged downwards rapidly, churning and slashing the sheets in a frenzy of stabbing.

Khamûl grinned manically as he finally pulled his sword from the wrecked bed. The hobbits were dead, all that was left was to take the Ring, return to Master and start their band. He pulled back the covers, fully expecting to met one very dead hobbit, (He prided himself on his stabbing skills) when instead...there was nothing. Zero. Null. Nada. Zilch.

Except, that is, for a hastily scribbled note that contained only a single word: _Suckers. _Someone had also drawn a little laughing smiley face next to the descriptive message. Based on his fellow wraiths' various reactions, Khamûl knew they all had found similarly insulting letters. With cries of frustration and hate, they overturned the beds and fled back downstairs, more determined than ever to find and end these miserable roaches.

* * *

_Six Days Later…_

"There they are." Ski breathed, peering out from a bush to stare at the glimmering campfire clearly visible on Weathertop. How dumb did those hobbits think they were? Their roasting dinner could be smelled miles away, and sausages, tomatoes, and bacon weren't one of your normal wilderness scents.

"Wait until that man leaves, then we strike." The Chief ordered in a low tone, loosening his blade in its sheath.

"Do you have anything particularly gruesome in mind for the one who stole Master's jewelry?" Gakh asked interestedly. "I'd like to see the little wretch squirm on a spike, personally."

"I don't think He'd like you calling it jewelry." Zag snickered.

"Just calling it like it is, brother. So how about it, Boss?"

"Well, Sauron did give me something, a weapon, to use at my discretion-" At this, he pulled out a thin and wickedly sharp dagger, etched with ancient runes that threw off a sense of its dark power. "-a Morgul Blade."

A collective gasp.

"Noooo!"

"You'd make him like US?!"

"But-but-"

"We're supposed to torture _him_, not the other way around!"

"Has this mission addled your brain?"

"Think of how it'd ruin our image!"

"We have a reputation to uphold!"

"Why?!"

"Okay, okay, calm down." The Boss hushed, placing the knife back in his cloak. "It's only as a last resort. Plus, think on the bright side. You'd be able to torment and tease him forever, not to mention make him do your chores and feed the fell beasts…" The Witch King knew just what buttons to push when it came to his crew.

"Meh, it might work."

"So an eternal servant then?"

"I suppose I could get used to that."

"Alright then, let's go."

The Nazgûl crept across the misty plain and slowly ascended the crumbling watchtower, swords drawn and at the ready. Upon reaching the summit, they saw all four hobbits huddled together in the middle, holding out pitiful little daggers to defend themselves. Noobs.

The Ringwraiths advanced step by step as the Chief shoved aside the others to reach for the one that held the Ring. This hobbit, (Frodo they'd heard him called) stood frozen with shock and sent his knife clattering to the ground, tripping over his large hairy feet and falling on his back.

"Butterfingers." The Witch King muttered, approaching faster.

"What did you call me?" Frodo cried indignantly from the floor.

"Butterfingers." He repeated with an eye roll. "You drop your weapon and run away? What tactical advantage do you ever hope to gain by that move?"

The hobbit blinked. "Actually, I was just thinking about the Ring and keeping it safe."

"Speaking of," The Boss remarked, lowering his sword. "Would you be so kind as to hand that over? We're on rather a tight schedule."

"Oh, I can _totally_ understand. Strider's been pushing us like all of Mordor's after us."

"Nope, just nine. And _tell_ me about overbearing masters."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Khamûl coughed.

"So, the Ring please?"

"You called me Butterfingers!" Frodo shrilled in wounded pride. "So I'm _not _gonna give you the Ring. It's mine." He stuck out his tongue and slipped the Ring on, disappearing to his companions...but not to the wraiths, who sighed at having to resort to plan B.

"Whatever floats your boat," The Chief shrugged. "But I'm really going to enjoy this." He added as he stabbed the annoying hobbit in the shoulder with the Morgul knife, enjoying the squealing it produced. "Sorry-not-sorry."

"See you in wraith-world!" Gakh laughed.

Suddenly, Strider leaped out of no where, waving around a torch and blade with which he attacked the Ringwraiths quite antagonistically. Rude.

After several minutes of clashing swords, the Nazgûl agreed retreat was preferable to burning up the only clothes they'd brought with them (Let's keep it PG, guys) and hastily fled.

"Fire, really? Who does he think he is, a king?" Krith complained as he stopped, dropped and rolled according to the Mordor Fire Department: Fire Safety Regulations.

"We stuck the hobbit with the Blade, all we have to do now is follow, wait until he starts to weaken, and grab the Ring." The Captain grinned evilly. _Man, it felt good to stab that punk. Maybe I should recommend it to my therapist as a stress-reducing activity. It's time for this to end._

* * *

_Two Weeks Later..._

The Nazgûl rode along the road to Rivendell, anxious to reach the ford before the band of misfits that carried the Master's precious Ring did. Time was ticking away and every passing day only increased their desire to complete the mission and start their band. Fame was calling ever more persistently and who were they to refuse her cries?

"Do you think that Frodo's a wraith yet?" Rut wondered, idly picking at his nails. Nail files are incredibly hard to come by while on the road.

"Nah, we'd be able to feel it." Zag assured him. "I can't wait to make him clean my room."

"He'll have his work cut out for him, that's for sure." Kraak smiled, already envisioning the hobbit-soon-to-be-wraith giving him a foot massage. Working for Sauron hardly gave a wraith any 'me time', and Kraak was a staunch believer in the thought that everyone needs to be pampered once in a while.

"Wait...There he is!" Khamûl pointed to a black shape ahead of them, squinting against the afternoon sun's glare. His sunglasses had been left on the beach at Nurnen, and he'd neglected to buy new ones. Some aviators would be classy, though… With a red trim...

"Good," The Chief nodded with a pleased air. "Gakh, you and I will stay on the road. Come up from behind and let them see you. Khamûl, lead the rest to that grove before the ford. Try to cut him off before he can cross it."

"Let's go team!" Udu hooted as they split up to lure their prey to his doom.

Frodo and his companions played their part beautifully, running from Witchy and Gakh and straight past the others, who commenced a furious chase. Someone had evidently thought it a smart idea to put the small hobbit all by himself on a giant elvish horse, who plainly felt disgruntled at carrying the diminutive and fuzzy creature.

The Nazgûl ran their horses hard, but couldn't overtake the swift white steed of Glorfindel the Elf Lord. Finally, Frodo reached the ford and scrambled across it, looking back at his pursuers who had halted at the water's edge.

"Crap…" The Chief grumbled. This should prove to be interesting. The hobbit was beginning to show definite signs of being on the threshold of wraith-ness, as seen by his labored breathing, pallor and glazed eyes. Still the Boss knew not one of his group would venture over the river to fetch Frodo and the Ring. A different strategy must be thought of.

"Feeling alright there, halfling?" He called hopefully,

"How do you think I feel?" Frodo groused, holding his shoulder resentfully.

"Not forgiveness, from what it sounds like."

"You _stabbed_ me."

"You stole our Master's Ring."

"Why do you guys want it so bad?" The hobbit questioned curiously, ignoring the previous statement. "I mean, what's in it for you?"

"A band!" Zag cried before he could stop himself. "Our own band and funded tour!"

"And free cheesecake!" Rut added, drooling a little at the thought.

"A band, huh? That's...actually pretty cool." Frodo said in a surprised voice. "But say I do give you the Ring, what happens to me?"

"Well, you're turning into a wraith whether or not you give us the Ring," Khamûl explained, gesturing at Frodo's demeanor, which was growing more translucent by the minute. "But if you _do_ hand it over, we'll make sure you receive proper wraith training as an employee of the Dark Lord."

"Would I get benefits?"

"Some, yes."

"Would I get my own Ring? Could I be a Ringwraith like you guys?"

The Nazgûl glanced at each other, not having thought of this aspect before. A four foot Ringwraith would definitely bring down their intimidation levels, and Sauron wasn't likely to rain free rings on people who'd stolen from him, but still...

"If you're really, really, really, _really_ good and don't misbehave…" The Boss trailed off, the partial answer all he was comfortable giving at the moment. "And you'd need to tell us where your friends went and what they're planning to do."

"Oh, piece of cake. They're hiding in bushes behind you waiting to jump out and scare you guys. I told them it was a stupid idea, but no one listens…"

Kraak, Udu, and Ski turned around and faced the shrubbery, so as not to be caught off guard by the scheming hobbits, man and elf.

"So you're giving us the Ring?" Krith said, shifting away from the rushing waters several feet from his horse's hooves.

"I'll make a deal. You all seem like decent enough fellows, so if you let me be part of your band, I'll return the Ring and we can all go to Mordor."

This was certainly the unexpected pill to swallow!

"Give us a minute." The Witch King told him, maneuvering to face his subordinates for a quick meeting. They all quietly conferred for a minute while Frodo sat waiting impatiently and uncomfortably on Asfolath before they turned back to him.

"Alright, we accept you deal." The Boss decided, sheathing his sword with a _snick. _"You shall be our fan club manager."

"Whaat?" Came from Frodo as he crossed back over the river.

"Welcome to the club, buddy!" Ski congratulated him as the Captain scooped up the Ring from the hobbit's hands.

"I'll take that then, Master will be most pleased." He said with a sigh of relief.

That's when Aragorn, Glorfindel and the hobbits chose to attack. They came yelling, waving torches, but stopped short at the sight of a now-invisible Frodo chatting with the dreaded Nazgûl.

"What's going on here?" Aragorn demanded, swinging his torch in what he hoped was a kingly and threatening manner.

"Oh, sorry, but we'll be taking the Ring and Wraith-Frodo with us," Udu commented nonchalantly as Rut pulled Wraith-Frodo onto his horse. "You can keep your horse, though." They all laughed and galloped away towards Mordor and glory.

"Die, scum!" Glorfindel screamed, thrusting his sword at their retreating figures. How dare they leave without challenging him to a fight to the death!

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam wailed, looking like a child who lost his mother.

"Ta-ta, Sam!" Wraith-Frodo called back gleefully, quickly shrinking in the distance. "I'm going to be famous!"

About halfway back to Minas Morgul, Wraith-Frodo brought up a question none of the Nazgûl had really thought of until then.

"So, what's the name of this band exactly?"

"Uhh…It's, uh..." The WItch King faltered, looking pleadingly to the ever inventive Zag for ideas.

"We're The DeadBeats!" Zag crowed, swerving around Krith as he mentally reminding himself that Witchy now owed him one. Genius is hard work.

"I like it!" Khamûl grinned, tasting the name on his month. "To the DeadBeats, then!"

"We don't have anything to toast with, idiot!" Kraak shouted above the sound of pounding hooves.

"Figuratively!"

"Master will be so proud!" Rut cried happily as they rode (figuratively) into the sunset.

The Chief smiled in contentment. "Yes. Yes, He will be."

THE END

* * *

_*Warning: long author's note ahead* _

_It's done! But do not fret, a sequel shall come! A I want to give everyone who's read, followed, favorited, and reviewed on this fic a huge THANK YOU. I couldn't have done it without your support. (I really mean that) I love you all so much! *hugs* Today it has also been a year to the date since I originally posted NNFT. Coincidence? Nope._

_As to future plans, I intend to work on several LotR humor one shots, (think Elrond's household) as well as another longer, more serious story. A sequel (Titled: Then There Were Ten) will be written as promised, though I really can't say how soon/late it will be. So if you don't already, follow me to stay updated on our lovely Ringwraiths! :)_

_The references in the last chapter was Darth Vader's "Impressive. Most impressive." from Empire Strikes Back and "Nothing whatever? Nothing whatever!" from the animated Alice in Wonderland. In regards to the poll, Witchy, Khamûl, and Zag are tied for first. Who will win? *dum dum dum!* So go ahead and vote for your favorites! And any OOC-ness on the characters' part *coughFrodocough* is intended and meant in good fun. _

_One last note: several of you over the past year have shared many funny videos, pictures, and cartoons of our beloved Nazgûl, some of which have a shockingly close resemblance to my wraiths. In case you wondered, while I love these pictures, videos, etc, none of them were my 'muse' for creating this story. That came from The Littlest Balrog by Dragon Confused. (It's on my favorite stories list, I'd highly recommend it.) That was when I first ever thought about writing a fic for the 'bad guys'. :) If you wanted to know..._

_Thanks again for the awesome journey, may the grace of the Valar guide you! _

_~Earial_


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